Sorry's Not Good Enough
by EchoRose480
Summary: Alternative ending to Merlin 5x07, because Merlin always takes things in stride, but what if he didn't? What if enough was finally enough? What if sorry just wouldn't cut it this time? I hope you like it! Spoilers for season 5! NO SLASH!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I wrote this because I felt cheated out off something that could have been really good with the last episode of Merlin: A Lesson in Vengeance. The writers totally botched it! Merlin crying when he thought Arthur was dead? Good. Merlin standing half bathed in shadow, brooding awesomely as he stared at Arthur's prone form? Good. Not having the knights be indignant at Merlin's being accused of treason? Not. Good. At. All. Merlin grudgingly accepting of all of this? TERRIBLE! So, Here's my revised ending. I hope you like it!

...

Merlin woke to a sudden loud clanging reverberating through the cell. He shivered under the rough blanket, his stomach scraping the cot beneath him, and opened his eyes. Warm daylight illuminated the floating dust in the stale air of his prison, and as Merlin lifted his head with a groan and a hand through his sleep mussed air, he caught sight of two figures standing in the doorway. Merlin blinked his bleary vision away, and was immediately hit with two warring emotions at seeing who faced him. Gaius was smiling amusedly, and Merlin felt a rush of jubilation and relief at their shared victory. Though he had been fairly certain of Arthur's recovery the night before, due to his magic, there had been an irrepressible doubt in his mind that had only lessened with sleep, and even then he had been haunted by nightmares of Arthur dying. Arthur pale and slumped in his chair, barely breathing. Shaking away those thoughts, Merlin turned to the other person watching him.

Gwaine stood with a pleased smirk on his face, and Merlin felt his mood plummet drastically.

He glared back at the knight, trying to convey all the betrayal and anger and hurt he felt into that one look. Gwaine's smile dropped off his face immediately, and Merlin couldn't help but feel some perverse satisfaction. Serves him right, he thought.

"Umm…" Gwaine said, having the nerve to look confused. Confused! "The king would like to see you,"

Merlin pointedly looked away from him and sat up, plucking some loose straw from his hair and trying to ignore all the aches and pains that had suddenly decided they needed his attention. He stretched his arms upward then braced them on the cot, wobbling to his feet. And looking rather sorry doing it, due to the current pudding state of his knees.

Gwaine's brow furrowed in concern and he stepped forward but Merlin shot him a look that could've curdled milk and he wisely retreated.

"I don't want your help," Merlin growled, and Gwaine ducked his head with a remorseful expression. Remorseful, but not ashamed. A sour taste filled Merlin's mouth as he realized this did not surprise him.

Moving quickly, Merlin brushed past them out of the cell, and let out the breath he'd been holding the past days or so.

Arthur wanted to talk to him. Fine. Merlin had some things to tell him. He needed to voice his suspicions, and soon

It had been cold the night before. Very cold. In fact, it had been so cold that Merlin had slept on his stomach in hopes of keeping his chest warm, where the important stuff was. Still, sleep hadn't come easy, and Merlin had had a lot of time to think.

Thinking when starving and alone and shivering in a cell, which you had been thrown into by your so called closest friends, is a dangerous pastime, indeed.

Trotting up the stairs, the feeling began to seep back into his bones, and this was both a good and bad thing. Now he could feel every sore and bruise and scrape that had accumulated in the past couple dozen hours. He'd hit his elbow on the floor when they'd tossed him into the dungeon, and it was now swelled and throbbing. He'd scraped his legs none too few times on the wall outside the prince's chambers as he'd climbed the night before. His head pounded with a blistering headache, and his stomach was empty of food only to be filled with resentment and disbelief and, even, dread.

How could they do this to him?

Wallowing in dark thoughts, Merlin walked robotically until he found himself outside Arthur's chambers. He raised his already fisted hand to knock, and heard a mild "come in" before entering.

Shutting the door behind him, Merlin turned to see Arthur seated at his table, a small, fond smile playing against his carefully schooled features. Merlin felt a flare of annoyance in his gut. Of course, Arthur trying to hide his concern.

Again.

"I must say, Merlin. This is the second, maybe, third time in my life I've actually been happy to see you,"

Merlin chuckled darkly,

"My thoughts exactly, sire," he said, though not for the reasons Arthur seemed to think, seeing as the king smiled and laughed himself, completely oblivious, as always. Merlin wasn't surprised at Arthur's easy banter. Of course, he expected Merlin to just…be okay with everything. As always.

"Sit down, Merlin," Arthur said, gesturing at the chair next to him. Merlin hesitated. He knew that Arthur would never let Merlin sit with him if anyone else were there to see. This made his insides roil with contempt.

He contemplated refusing, just to spite Arthur, but decided against it.

He plopped into the seat at Arthur's left, and stared down at the table, unable, or, rather, unwilling to look him in the eyes.

"Well, it looks like we've both been through something of an ordeal,"

"Arthur I-"

"Please, let me finish,"

Merlin swallowed and studied his hands. He didn't want Arthur to talk. If Arthur just didn't speak, didn't bring it up, didn't bring it all back, Merlin could just let go. He could slip on the mask and return to his perpetual façade of easygoingness; he could forget all about it, and go back to his life of invisible servitude in silence. If Arthur would just not-

"I'm sorry…about what happened to you. As soon as I heard, I told them it couldn't have been you that poisoned me. Also, the cook confirmed your alibi," Arthur grinned and looked so completely nonchalant that Merlin had to resist the urge to hit him.

Merlin was seething. The betrayal he'd felt before that had morphed into resentment was now rapidly turning into anger. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Merlin knew Arthur hadn't really done anything wrong. After all, he had trusted Merlin. Immediately knew he couldn't have tried to kill him.

But he was just grinning so easily, his eyes glinting so _expectantly_. He knew that Merlin would let it go. He knew that Merlin would be okay with being thrown in the dungeons by Guinevere and the knights. Because he was always okay. Wasn't he?

White hot fury pounded in his chest, and Merlin, literally, felt himself snap. Just a little.

But he snapped, nonetheless.

"Well," he said, drumming his fingers on the table and meeting Arthur's confused gaze, "That's all very well and good that you're sorry. Now, what are you going to do about it?"

"What do you mean?" Arthur asked, frowning and, seemingly, surprised. Of course, surprised. Surprised Merlin wasn't goofily, nonchalantly dismissing everything bad that had happened to him. As he always did.

"I mean, I was thrown in the dungeons and sentenced to death by your wife and knights, all because of some happenstance and flimsy, circumstantial evidence. And I'm wondering, what you are going to do about it?" A glint of annoyance flashed in Arthur's eyes, and he leaned forward a bit,

"Merlin that's not-"

"Of course, you won't do anything will you? No, I should just…bounce back from the knowledge that seven years of loyal service to the kingdom, to _you_, would hold no weight when your safety is in question. Of course, same went for Tyr, didn't it? He was on his way to the gallows before suspicions were even fully formed. But even he got a trial. Oh, no, not me, not Merlin. I should be so lucky,"

"Merlin that's enough!"

Merlin bolted to his feet, knocking his chair over, and Arthur stood as well, his face filled with confusion and anger. Hot rushes of agonizing hurt and anguish and fury pulsed through Merlin's entire being, and he could do nothing to stop the torrent of words now flying from his mouth. Not that he wanted to.

"No, Arthur, it's never enough, is it?! I spent hours alone in the dark, knowing you were dying and knowing that it took not so much as two minutes for my so called friends to blame it all on me. No one even came to see me. I was going to die! I thought, if nothing else, surely Gwaine would-" here his voice cracked, but even this and Arthur's now, slightly guilty expression could not stop him, "But no. It's never enough. No matter how many times I save your life, or theirs. No matter how many times I prove my loyalty, again and again. Hell, I've faced witches and bandits and bloodthirsty kings with you, Arthur. I've always been there, for all of you. You think it's easy for me? I deserve some _trust_! I thought Gwen, of all people, would give me the benefit of a doubt. But no, her immediate conclusion was that I tried to kill you, and you don't see the wrong in this? Damn it all, I'm the only reason you and Gwen are even…" his voice trailed off, his shoulders began to tremble and he looked down at the ground, his anger melting to be replaced by a strange, firm _cold_. He couldn't go on. It was no use, after all.

What was the use of any of it?

After a few moments of silence, Merlin forced his hardened eyes to meet Arthur's. He schooled his emotions, pushed away the pain.

No use. Arthur could never understand. None of them ever would.

The king had a strange look on his face, his mouth slightly open, his eyes wide with shock and confusion and a strange hurt, unmoving with one hand grasping the end of the table.

Merlin spun on his heel and headed for the door, no longer thinking on his actions and feeling something akin to…numb. He grasped the ornate handle, and pulled the door open. Before he stepped out, he glanced over his shoulder, not completely turning back,

"I quit,"

And then he left.

...

A/N: Sooooooo, please tell me what you thought, and if you'd like me to continue! I probably won't, but, hey, nothing's written in stone, right? ;) This was fun for me to write, got rid of the frustration I'd been feeling from the last episode. Or, lessened it a bit, at least. As of this moment, Colin Morgan is the only redeemable thing about that show. At least, in my opinion. Omigosh when he started to cry over Arthur? I was like "Colin KNOWS what's what!" Okay, I'm done now. **Reviews! :D**


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Wow! I am just blown away by the responses to this, I really didn't expect this many. :D I just want to say thank you to all of you for your reviews, even to those who didn't much care for the story, it's really nice to get feedback of all kinds. :) It was not my original intention to make this story anything more than a brief one-shot, but since you guys said 'pretty please', I decided I'm gonna make it into a full story. ;) Just to address some questions and comments made in the reviews, here are a few clarifications:

Okay, so I realize Arthur wasn't exactly the way he was in the show in this story. The truth is, I was just too lazy to double check and see if I had portrayed him completely accurately. :) Also, I do not think it is really relevant, since the focal point of this story was meant to be centered on Merlin and him reacting in a way that wasn't like the show, that wasn't perfect, but what I thought to be more natural and human. Arthur's behavior isn't really the focus.

Arthur didn't deserve to be yelled at like that, this is true. :) But just remember that this is supposed to be Merlin bursting from years of frustrations and losses. The whole prison thing was just the straw that broke the camel's back, and Arthur happened to be there. Plus, he's hurt Merlin in the past in other ways. So, Merlin isn't really acting irrationally, but he's acting imperfectly, like a person would. Arthur's innocence, in this case, doesn't really make a difference.

Here are a few points about this story: Merlin will not be running away from Camelot. This is not a Dark Merlin fic, nor a slash fic. This is going to have a lot of emotional angst and internal discomfiture, so if you don't like seeing friendships tested or misunderstandings ensue, than I would suggest not continuing. This is not a tragedy.

I hope you'll join me for the ride, and that you enjoy it!

...

The door clicked shut behind his manservant, the sound seeming to echo through the chambers with an ominous finality. Merlin just quit. _Merlin_ just _quit_? Merlin had yelled at him, yelled at Arthur, and…He. Had. Quit.

Arthur realized he had sat down after it was too late to brace himself. He lay his hands on the wood of his table, the reassuring cool, firmness beneath his fingertips doing nothing to drag him back to reality from where he was lost in the hurricane of his own thoughts.

What the _hell_ had just happened?

His emotions couldn't seem to decide where they wanted to take root. He felt angry and betrayed and indignant, and he knew this was the proper reaction, darn it. But he also felt confused, miserable and even guilty…guilty, why did he feel guilty? It was nowhere near Merlin's place for him to speak like that to Arthur, to his king. He was impertinent and ungrateful. Arthur had cleared his name, had made sure he wouldn't get beheaded or burned or hanged or-

What had Arthur done to set him off? He had been bloody poisoned, unconscious for heaven's sake! Merlin had had absolutely no right…

And yet, some of the things he had said seemed to cut to Arthur's core. What _had _happened during those hours of his illness? Had the knights and Gwen really so flippantly thrown Merlin into prison as he claimed? Arthur found it hard to believe that Gwen, of all people, would so easily accuse Merlin as all of that. They had been good friends for longer than Arthur had known Gwen. Best friends, in fact. Arthur knew that Gwen would never intentionally condemn Merlin without good cause.

But, Merlin was no liar.

Of course, he _had_ been through something of a trauma. Arthur clenched his fists in time with the sudden twist in his gut as he remembered Merlin's distraught face when he spoke of his time in the dungeons. "Hours alone in the dark," were his words.

Arthur made a point of not picturing this in his head.

Indeed, it made sense that Merlin wouldn't be thinking quite clearly after what he'd been through. Was it possible that Merlin had simply needed to blow up on someone? To let out the tension, he'd needed to vent and Arthur had simply had the misfortune of being there when he did?

But then, this train of thought was cut off dead as fragmented snippets of Merlin's tangent ran through Arthur's head,

"No one came to see me…I was going to die…knowing you were going to die,"

Arthur frowned and ran a hand down his face, trying to bite down the anger suddenly risen in him. Unbidden images of Merlin huddled in the dungeons, awaiting his death sentence with no one come to reassure him or even ask his side of the story…Arthur clenched his jaw and dug his fingers into the wood.

Really, had none of the knights or even Gwen visited him? It seemed uncharacteristic. Arthur wouldn't have believed it if Merlin hadn't been the one to say so. All in all, Merlin was right about one thing: Arthur would have expected Gwaine, if no one else, to have done _something_.

How long had Merlin thought he was going to die with none of his friends caring?

Arthur sighed a prolonged, tired sigh, and stood, heading for the door.

He was still angry at his manservant. Merlin tended to be a bit melodramatic, and Arthur had the sneaking suspicion that this rant of his was from bottled up feelings and minor issues that he hadn't voiced and, therefore, had suddenly spilled out of him onto Arthur, the unlucky participant. That didn't mean his behavior was inexcusable, however.

Despite what Merlin thought, Arthur wasn't completely oblivious and he _had_ noticed a slight change in his manservant over the past few months. Arthur still remembered the tears in his eyes at the campfire, and a heavy sadness in them when he told Arthur there was nothing to smile about.

Arthur's understanding was that Merlin had been accused of treason. Merlin! Of all people, Arthur knew none other with his same ridiculous loyalty. It did seem rather odd that Gwen had-

Arthur shook his head and continued his gait down the hall.

Whether Merlin's imprisonment was an actual problem or just something that had got to the man, it all boiled down to the fact that Arthur needed to talk to him.

Damn it all to hell, but Merlin had friends and Arthur was going to make sure he knew that.

….

Merlin was perplexed by the tears running silently down his face. Indeed, he felt detached from the world around him, separated from himself, and apart from the lonely aching in his chest that pulsed in place of his heart.

He stared down at the ground, heading to his chambers as quickly as he could in his befuddled state, stumbling every now and then and running into other people going about their own business. He didn't much care.

He couldn't quite bring himself to care.

He'd just quit. God, he'd just _quit_. The anger he'd been feeling was dulling down to a slight simmer, and was being replaced by a harsh shock that made his legs feel weak.

He'd given up his job, his place at Arthur's side that was just _perfect_ for protecting him. He could spot bandits and evil kings and magical threats when he was with Arthur. As Arthur's manservant, he had free reign to be his guardian. To do as destiny had deigned.

And he'd given that place up.

The strange thing was, he didn't regret it.

He did regret, though.

He was weighed down with regret, like a cold wet blanket on his spirit. He was sorry for trying, for having gotten attached. He would still protect Arthur. He would stay in Camelot, because Gaius needed him and Merlin needed Gaius. Gaius was his only true friend. The others were not. They didn't know him, they didn't _really_ know him. The sad truth was that Merlin knew that baring his soul, that showing his true self to anyone, would mean death. Either for him or the person in question, it didn't matter. His magic, his existence, brought death. Will, Lancelot, Morgana, Freya…all of them gone, because of him.

He knew he was a coward. Or, maybe he was just practical. But he wasn't going to do it anymore. No more hurt, not from people. Not from the people he had thought were his friends. And they had proven not to be. He was stupid. Stupid for having thought that he could put his faith in something besides himself. He could keep his distance. He _would_. He could still help Arthur's destiny. He could still protect him, could still live in Camelot. He just couldn't be that close anymore. He didn't want it to be personal.

It hurt too much.

Merlin was roughly shoved from his thoughts as he careened into another figure, but this time the voice was familiar,

"Merlin! You need to learn to be more careful," Gwen said, brushing off her dress and giving him a cheery smile.

It hit Merlin then. He had seen Gwen smile before. She smiled all the time, in fact. She smiled at things that amused or touched her, or at her friends when she saw they were hurting, or to her subjects when she delighted in their happiness, even if she were feeling upset or stressed. Her smile was more familiar to Merlin than Gaius' raised eyebrow, Arthur's worried frown or Gwaine's easy smirk. And this wasn't it.

That was Gwen's smile. But it wasn't Gwen smiling. It was _not _Gwen.

Merlin frowned at her. Maybe it was because he was angry, or maybe he wasn't thinking straight, but he was saying the words before he could stop them,

"I know what you are," he knew he was being stupid, idiotic, in fact, but he needed to know. He needed to see.

Gwen gave herself away. Her mask slipped. It was just for a moment, and she expertly rearranged it in a heartbeat, but Merlin had seen it. He had seen the hesitation in her eyes, the small flash of fear and the twitch at the corner of her lips.

"Merlin," she said and touched his arm, "Whatever do you mean?" Merlin plucked her wrist away from him and smoothly stepped up closer, his face now inches from hers. He could feel the shakiness to her breath, could see the slight sheen of sweat collecting just above her brow. He felt her body flinch and her fingertips curl against his hand as she tensed.

"Do not take me for a fool," he whispered, and to any passersby he might have been sharing an intimate secret with a very old friend, "I am not so blind as the rest. I know what you have done, and I know what you're planning," he heard her sharp intake of breath and leaned closer, his lips brushing against her ear, "Know this. The king is under my protection. No matter what you try, no matter your scheme, no matter your design, you will _fail_ in the end. I know exactly how to handle you and your kind. Listen well, my queen," Gwen tugged away slightly, her breathing now heavy, but Merlin tightened his grip, "If you dare touch him again, I will not be so forgiving. You've tasted defeat once. Next time, I will ensure it tastes of blood,"

Merlin stepped away, and without a second glance, strode off, feeling sick inside. He had to remind himself that the person behind him was not Gwen. Morgana must have done something to her, and he would find out what. He would bring her back.

In the meantime, it wouldn't hurt for the puppet queen to know her façade wasn't immaculate. Not in Merlin's eyes.

Merlin knew what he'd just done was beyond foolish.

Again…he couldn't quite bring himself care.

…

Morgana didn't like the cold.

It frustrated her. She knew she was powerful. She knew she was on a level of superiority to other sorcerers concerning raw strength and finesse, and that she was astronomically above the heads of people without magic. Still, she was awed and, yes, frustrated by the fact that nature could so quickly render her weak or incapable with its biting chill.

True, she'd grown somewhat used to it over the years. After living in a hovel and then in different caves and hideouts and various, inadequate rat nests in place of housing, the cold was like an old companion. Indeed, she was very familiar with it after trudging through that icy tundra a few months ago. Cold was constant and unchanging, always there to remind her of her reality, to prevent softness or complacency.

She'd grown up in palaces and prestige, always with thick furs, warm clothes and fires continuously stoked by unnamed servants for her benefit. Warm had always been something she expected, something never questioned or worried over, like the sunrise or buds in the spring.

Warmth was just another part of her forgotten life.

Cold was just another part of her new one.

Still, as she paced back and forth through the damp brambles of the forest, her breath fogging out in the icy air, she willed Gwen to hurry to their meeting place. The sooner they conferred the sooner she could warm herself with a fire. She would have used her magic instead, except for that particular kind of spell took quite a bit of energy. As your body was warmed, your vitality was just as efficiently sapped. She drew her cloak closer and then blew into her folded hands, rubbing the warm moisture over her frozen fingers.

Finally, a sound behind her.

Morgan twirled around to see Gwen approaching in the dark, the dappled moonlight illuminating her concernedly strained features.

Morgana assumed an expression of concern and fondness, and walked up to her, grabbing both of her hands and tilting her head to the side,

"What is wrong?" she asked, hating the sweet lilt to her own voice. Gwen shook her head and pursed her lips,

"'Tis not good. It's Merlin. He knows about me,"

Morgana felt an inexplicable rush of uneasiness send shivers up her spine,

"What?" she said, her voice irritatingly quiet.

"He knows I tried to kill Arthur," Gwen said, pulling away and turning around, touching her knuckles to her lips and breathing through her nose, "I fear he will interfere in our plans," she finished.

There was something in her voice. It was a note of…fear? Morgana wondered why this was. Gwen was not easily afraid. She'd proven that to Morgana during her stay in the Dark Tower.

Merlin must have intimidated her, in some way. Though, Morgana had difficulty imagining this. Whatever the reason, Morgana knew that Gwen had reason to be uneasy. Merlin had a terrible knack for meddling in affairs not his own. Especially, when concerning Arthur.

Morgana felt the familiar bitter taste of hatred fill her mouth as she put a hand on Gwen's shoulder reassuringly,

"Don't worry. He will not get the chance,"

...

A/N: Okay, hope you liked it! Please** review**!

PS: Sorry if Merlin was a bit intense. Remember this is not a Dark!Merlin fic, so don't worry about that. ;) This fic is going to have a lot of focus on Merlin's mental and emotional turmoil, because I think they could tend to delve into him more in the show. So, yeah. Remember, he wouldn't say this to Gwen if he thought it were actually Gwen. :D


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Okay, so, this one wasn't quite as long as I had hoped, but I really wanted to publish something tonight, so, hopefully, you can forgive me. :D Thanks so much, all of you, for your lovely reviews! You guys are great! Alright, onto the chapter!

...

Merlin glared at the ceiling as he lay in his bed, his hands folded over his stomach as he listened absentmindedly to the sounds of the city outside the open window. He could faintly make out the voice of an overzealous vendor shouting about his wares over the din of passing carts and the mild roar of a hundred conversations.

He was making a major point of keeping his mind empty of anything but that. He was failing.

He didn't cry anymore. He didn't rage anymore. He felt…hollow. Like something was lost, or missing. And, he supposed, something was.

He tried to rationalize to himself. He knew the decision he'd made had been selfish. It had been stupid and rash and unfair. Arthur hadn't deserved any of that. It was entirely his own fault to have lost his temper so inappropriately. He should go back. He should apologize and try to return to his job and his normal frame of mind. He could do it. He _should_. But every time he started to sit up, started to walk towards the door, formulating a remorseful speech in head, something stopped him.

He just…couldn't go back. It was like some kind of dam had burst, like something heavy and _cold_ had finally spilled out of him. He felt lighter, stronger…lonelier. It was like he was free, somehow. It hurt to be free. He had crossed a line he never thought he would. He had said exactly what he felt, had confronted Arthur with everything that had been plaguing him for the past…how long had it been?

Time seemed to have blurred together. His entire life, those best years of his had been spent protecting. Protecting, safeguarding, watching, _fixing _things, and no one knew it. Guilt gnawed at his insides as bitter thoughts ran through his head. He hadn't been bitter before. He cared for Arthur, for the knights, for Camelot. And that was what really hurt. The caring. The fact that he would give his life for _any_ of his friends, for his kingdom. But none of them seemed to feel the same. He was alone.

He'd had happy times these past nine years. He'd met incredible people, accomplished incredible things. And yet, these happy moments seemed dim, almost, naïve, overshadowed by the losses and wounds he'd suffered with no one there to bear it with him. Looking back on those times of blind faith for good things to happen, of warm hope and friends who still lived and breathe and could smile and share their love with him, he knew that he had been a child. Nothing but an ignorant child. Arthur was his friend, or had been, at least, but it was different. Arthur didn't know him. Merlin was a lie, a fabrication, a mask. He couldn't wear it anymore. He just couldn't. Ironically, there seemed to be no one left who really cared. Lancelot, Freya…Gwen. They were gone. Arthur cared for him. He knew this. But he could never know Merlin's secret. He wouldn't risk their destiny like that. And he would still protect Arthur, make sure their destiny came to pass. He still believed in Albion. He still wanted those who had magic to taste freedom, to live without fear. That was his duty to bring about. It was all he had left.

Sometimes, he wished it wasn't.

Again, selfishness. He was being selfish. Yet, he yearned for it. He yearned for a friend, someone who could listen to his trouble, who he could let see him cry, or lash out or break down without fear of an investigation, which might lead to someone discovering his secret. It was ingrained in his identity now. _Secrecy_. He didn't know if it was a habit, an affliction of his own spirit, but it was near impossible for him to display any part of himself, not just his magic. From Arthur, the knights, he hid injuries. From Gaius, he hid pain. He was a coiled, wary, suspicious, dark vault of complete solitude.

Yes, he had Gaius. Merlin's heart swelled with gratitude at just the thought of the kind man who had become a father to him. But that was it. Just Gaius. To anyone else, he was a bumbling, loyal servant who had no real bearing in their lives. Sure, he was nice enough. People were fond of him. Fondness. It hurt to be someone people were _fond_ of. Being likable, apparently, did nothing to stop your friends from betraying you when it worked out well.

Of course, Merlin couldn't be certain of the knights' intentions. Maybe they had been planning on rescuing him, talking to Gwen, _something_. But the anger remained, the betrayal remained, the sorrow remained. Because not one of them had lifted a finger to even protest against his incrimination. The worst thing was, the night he'd spent here in his room, after his confrontation with Arthur, he had drawn a conclusion.

It was his fault.

He alienated people. He pushed them away. He protected them, but without them knowing. He joked with them, gave as good as he got, and more. He knew that they could be true friends if he would allow it. But he couldn't. It was too dangerous. Whether for himself, or for them, it didn't matter. It was just too _bloody_ frightening. Any friend he'd ever had was dead. Decaying in the earth, lifeless. And it was his fault.

In the end, he supposed he had been kidding himself. He thought that despite everything, despite the secrecy and pain, he had people he could count on. He thought that they really, _truly_ cared for him.

Apparently, he had been wrong.

And maybe Arthur was different. Arthur had, in fact, been the only one to believe his innocent, despite any so-called evidence contributing to his guilt. But it was just too much.

It was just too much to care.

Merlin wasn't sure if he was being petty, or if he should be doing something to remedy his actions the night before. He'd shown weakness, shown anger. He felt exposed, vulnerable. He'd shown a part of himself to Arthur last night that…he never should have had to see. Merlin felt disgusted with himself.

Yet, liberated.

And then there was Gwen. Gwen, was she enchanted? Should he tell Arthur? There was no way that encounter would end up well. But Arthur couldn't lose someone else. Not again. He just wouldn't be able to take it.

Merlin knew he had to bring her back.

Friends or no friends, Gwen or no Gwen, Merlin would do what he had to do. Without hoping they cared as much as he did.

All Merlin knew was that he couldn't go back to the way he was before. Whatever that was.

With a new kind of resolve steeling his veins, or, perhaps, resignation, Merlin swung his feet to the floor, and stood, jumping and his hands balling into fists as a sound broke the silence,

"Merlin!"

…..

Arthur wasn't running.

Yes, he was moving quickly. The sound of his boots hitting the stone in rapid succession meant he was moving quickly, but-

Okay, he was running.

But to be fair to himself, he didn't really have a choice.

A day had passed since Merlin's outburst. Arthur hadn't been able to see him yesterday. He had been on his way to the chambers. He had _tried_ to have a moment alone with the boy, but he had been stopped by a sudden realization that he had a council meeting in ten minutes.

After he had finished with that, which took several hours of agonizing discussion, Arthur had been on his way back to Merlin's chambers, when he was accosted by a somewhat forcibly cheery Guinevere. She had stopped him and asked why he looked so worried, and when he'd explained, she'd suggested he give Merlin some time to cool off, before going and talking to him.

Arthur had been reluctant, and there had…been something in her eyes…

In the end, though, logic had won over, and he knew that Merlin probably wouldn't have wanted to talk to him so soon after their…was it a fight? No, because Arthur hadn't been able to get a word in. It had been more like a flogging, and Arthur had been on the receiving end of the whip.

For heavens' sakes, then why did he feel guilty? Well, whether he had deserved Merlin's rebukes or not, he still felt the clenching in his gut.

Hence, the running.

It may have also had to do with a kind of panic. Not true panic, of course, but a strange uneasiness that had settled over him ever since he'd decided to give Merlin some time to himself before Arthur approached him. It was almost as if…he felt he had to get it done, and get it done quickly, or Merlin would be firmly stuck in whatever state he was in. That Arthur wouldn't be able to bring him back.

Which was ridiculous, of course.

Still, he kept running. Better safe than sorry.

He turned a corner, into another corridor and rushed to Gaius' chambers, skidding to a halt outside the door, and taking a few moments to catch his breath, seeing as he didn't want to _appear_ like he had been sprinting down the halls. Tucking his rumpled tunic into his trousers, Arthur looked both ways to see if anyone was looking, and sighed with relief, seeing no one had seen him. He cleared his throat, in with only a slight twinge of apprehension, knocked on the door.

"Come in," Gaius' aged voice said from inside the room. Arthur pushed the door open and stepped inside, the familiar scent of chemicals, book dust, and old man filling his nostrils. Gaius turned from his place at the table, concocting something, apparently, and raised an eyebrow at seeing who had come in,

"Sire," Gaius said, bowing slightly. Arthur nodded in turn and closed the door behind him before approaching the man,

"Gaius," he greeted, and then looked around the room, "Where's Merlin?"

Gaius suddenly stiffened, a strange emotion passing across his usually impeccably impassive face,

"I'm afraid I don't know, your highness," Arthur frowned at him and pointed over his shoulder at Merlin's room, the door of which was closed,

"He's in there, isn't he?"

Gaius, seeing that he would not fool the king, took a more direct approach, and crossed his arms,

"He does not wish to see anyone, sire," he stated. Arthur resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and started forward, only to be stopped by Gaius' outstretched arm,

"He is not himself, Arthur," Gaius said, getting the king's attention by using his name, "He came home in…something of a state last night, milord. He does not wish to see you," he repeated firmly. Arthur swallowed and looked back at the door, ready to burst through if need be.

He felt a bit of anger well up inside of him. What was _wrong_ with Merlin? Arthur had every right to see him. Not only as a king but as his…comrade. He was being completely unreasonable, and Arthur only wanted to solve things!

"Merlin!" he called, sounding harsher than he had meant to. Gaius glared at him, and raised an eyebrow, but Arthur ignored him. He strode to the door and without any hesitation this time, threw it open.

There was no one there. Complete silence and emptiness except for the cool breeze wafting through a conspicuously open window which overlooked the street. Arthur did roll his eyes this time, along with a growl of frustration.

Damn him.

...

Merlin ran through the streets, checking needlessly back over his shoulder every now and then to see if he was being followed. But Arthur was nowhere in sight.

Merlin's heart was trying to break through his chest as he sprinted through the streets, stumbling into boxes and people by accident. Why was he so scared?

He had heard Arthur's voice from the other room, and immediately escaped through the window. He didn't know why, not exactly, anyway, but he had been absolutely terrified of having to talk to the king.

Maybe it was because he was afraid he'd say things that should have been locked away inside of him. Again.

Finally, Merlin began to coast to a steady jog, and then a walk, and finally, he stopped entirely. He panted and bent over his knees, struggling to slow his breathing and racing heart.

After a few moments, he swallowed and straightened, still breathing hard. Some people were giving him odd looks as they went about their business, or were outright staring. Merlin paid them no heed, and began backing up into the welcome shade of an alley between two small buildings, keeping an eye on the street in front of him.

The darkness shrouded over him, and he breathed out a sigh of relief from the coolness and privacy. Finally, some pea-

"Your fate has been decided. Choose wisely going forward," suddenly, a rasping whisper from behind him. Merlin felt a thrill of fear chase up his spine as icy fingers closed over his throat, and something sharp was pressed against his side.

He gasped out, but the fingers tightened, and he hissed as the blade broke through his skin, and warm blood trickled down his hip.

And then, the sensations vanished.

Merlin whirled around, franticly scanning the small alleyway.

There was no one there.

Merlin bit his lip, and clutched at his throbbing, shallow wound. He stumbled backward back into the street, confusion and fear doing nothing to sharpen his rapidly dulling senses.

Black dots painted his vision, and a tightness grew in his chest, a pain in his throat causing him to choke and trip over something on the ground.

He cried out and fell backwards, expecting to hit the street, but, instead, colliding with another figure who yelped in surprise, and then roared in anger.

Merlin whirled around with an apology on his lips, when a fist connected with his solar plexus. Merlin doubled over in pain, the air whooshing from his lungs. He managed to stay on his feet, but the agony increased in his stomach as he regained his breathing, and a wave of nausea passed over him.

"Whaddya think you're doin', you little tripe!" an enraged voice yelled.

Merlin had but a moment to think that this whole situation was rather unfair before he sank to his knees, and into darkness.

...

A/N: Alrighty then, so, not too much happened this chapter, but there'll be more cool stuff next one. :) And, close encounters with Gwaine. Sooo, yea! Please take a moment and leave a **Review, **I would really appreciate it. ;) Have a nice day!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Whew! This one was fun, but difficult. :D I hope you guys like it!

...

Gwaine's fingertips brushed the splintering wood of the door as his hand coasted to a standstill. Any self-indulgent thoughts he had been entertaining suddenly dissipated from his mind. The sounds of merriment from within the tavern quieted to a dim drone in the back of his head.

What the hell was he doing?

Stepping back, Gwaine clenched his hand into a fist and lowered it to his side. He let out one long, heavy breath, and then spun on his heel, striding away from the promise of warm mead, pickled eggs and several hours of drunken oblivion. He steered his way half-heartedly through the marketplace crowd, apologizing blandly whenever he hindered or bumped into the many moving bodies surrounding him. He was busily preoccupied with the swirling half-formed plans and strategies rushing through his head, for when he reached his destination.

Merlin must hate him now.

The sad truth was, Gwaine couldn't blame him. Merlin was completely justified in whatever disdain he currently harbored for his so named friends. They'd all been idiots. All the knights were guilty of being careless, moronic, fumbling buffoons who had disregarded their friend at a time when they should have been first and foremost in line to try and save him, or, at least, offer some kind of comfort.

Well, they had failed, spectacularly.

But, though they were _all _to blame, Gwaine knew he was the one who truly deserved the guilt he was feeling, more so than the others. _He_ should have known better. _He _should have done better. _He_ was the one who told Merlin he was devoted as a friend. That he was there for him, no matter what.

Well, Gwaine had turned out to be a real, bloody disappointment, hadn't he?

It wasn't as if he had _abandoned_ Merlin, he tried to rationalize to himself as he stepped over the spilled cabbages of a fallen basket. He _had_ been planning on working to get him free. As soon as Gwen had accused him of poisoning Arthur, Gwaine knew it couldn't have been him…And yet, there had been that small flicker, deep inside himself, rooted at the innermost core of that side of him defined by a life of mistrust, betrayal, and solitude. Gwaine had worked at snuffing it out, ignoring it, discarding it, but it was as if he were fanning a fire with his attempts at subduing it, and the feeling remained. _Doubt_.

Gwaine hadn't had an easy life. He'd had his fair share of losses and missteps, mistakes. His entire life had been steered and directed by his own internal philosophy of perpetual facetiousness. Don't take life too seriously, and you'll never make enough of a mark that it will turn around to stab you in the back.

Merlin had changed that about him.

He hadn't meant for that encounter in the tavern to alter the course of his life. He hadn't expected that having a bit of a brawl, for fun's sake, would eventually land him as a knight of the realm, protecting the innocent and dealing justice upon the wicked. He hadn't known that his flippant actions would get him a friend kind, compassionate, patient, _selfless_ enough to put up with him. He hadn't expected this young man to bend and pry and prod at his fortuitous mask of bitterness and apathy, and end up pulling out something noble. The _last_ thing Gwaine had expected was for someone to change him for the better despite his own efforts towards the contrary. Merlin was like a river, both nourishing and unnerving, you could never quite catch a glimpse of him that wasn't shifting or moving, vibrant with energy, always chipping away at your armor with the natural flow of his personality and essence.

It sometimes scared Gwaine, how easily he had come to care for the boy.

Maybe that was what had kept him from visiting Merlin. Maybe, during those few hours of worrying and scheming and trying to find a moment alone with Gwen to convince her of Merlin's innocence, _that _was what had stopped him. Gwaine was afraid. He had been afraid that there couldn't possibly be a person like Merlin who existed. Gwaine had never met anyone so completely open and honest and loyal. It was like looking at a very wise child. He trusted so easily, cared so easily. He had befriended Gwaine without any trepidation or trial.

Gwaine had been afraid that he had been fooled. That Merlin really wasn't who Gwaine thought he was, and that that would have made him blind.

Gwaine was selfish, and a coward.

And he had turned out to be a fool in the end, anyways.

Merlin had done nothing to make him think that he would ever hurt Arthur. He was the most devoted person Gwaine had ever known. Wherever Arthur went, he was there. He was there on all of their quests and endeavors. He'd always turned a blind eye to all of the teasing and harassment they put him through. He'd had faith in all of them, that despite the coarse, outward appearance, he was loved. And that's what really hurt Gwaine, what really made him hate himself.

Merlin had trusted them, and they let him down.

The worst thing was, Gwaine hadn't expected him to be angry. Merlin was _never_ angry. Not really, not at him. Gwaine supposed had been in denial, thinking that when he went to get Merlin from his cell, the boy would smile goofily in relief and harbor no hard feelings.

And now Gwaine searched him out. They could talk and make a few jokes, and things would be patched up. Merlin was almost too forgiving for his own good, and though the glare he had given Gwaine the day before in his cell had been all too serious, he knew that he could convince the young man to give him a second chance. Right?

Suddenly, Gwaine was ripped from his thoughts as an intense, deep-throated cry of anger blasted through the street,

"Whaddya think you're doing, you little tripe?!" the voice yelled. Gwaine rushed forward, pushing aside the many gawkers, and felt his heart stop in his throat at the sight in front of him.

Merlin was curled into a ball in the dirt, his arms wrapped around his stomach, and his face contorted in pain where his eyes flickered open and shut, as if he was having trouble maintaining consciousness. A giant beast of a man stood towering over him with his hands balled into fists, radiating irrational fury.

Gwaine felt his vision go red with anger, and he was charging forward before he had even commanded his body to do so. The man was extremely large, muscular and a bit paunchy, about a foot and half taller than Gwaine. Still, when his fist connected with the man's face, it was with enough force that the blackguard stumbled backward from the blow, raising a hand to his face.

Gwaine moved to a protective position in front of Merlin, and raised his fists in front of him, bouncing on the balls of his feet in a fighting stance. He glanced back over his shoulder and called anxiously,

"You alright, mate?"

Merlin was struggling to stand, one arm still around his stomach. He nodded and coughed weakly with a small grunt of pain. Gwaine felt the anger flare inside of him again, and just as he turned to show the man how much muscle could be built up from training with heavy swords and maces everyday, he was roughly grabbed by the front of his shirt and lifted off the ground. He was spun around by a large hand on his shoulder, and then grabbed by the front of his clothes and held aloft above the ground, his toe tips brushing the gravel. A bulbous nose was suddenly in his face, rank moist breath escaping from dried bloody lips and through the gaps between the yellow stubs of his attacker's teeth.

Eww.

"Stay out of my business, _pig_," the man hissed as Gwaine turned his face in an effort to escape the smell. Good lord, this man did _not_ have the right to call him a pig.

In answer to the threat, Gwaine, reared back his foot and promptly kicked the man in the crotch, gasping in relief as Merlin's attacker crumpled to the ground and the pressure was off his neck. Gwaine danced backward, waiting honorably for the man to stand up so they could continue, but the man had no such scruples. He grabbed Gwaine's ankle and yanked hard, so that the knight fell backwards with a yelp onto his back. Scrambling to his knees he lunged forward between the man's knees as he was now standing. The man lost his balance and entangled himself as he toppled like a felled tree. Gwaine stood again, slipped behind him and jumped onto his back, wrapping his arms around the man's thick neck. The man tried to shake him off, and Gwaine squeezed harder in an effort to hold on.

And then, he found himself staring at the sky, the wind knocked out of him as he realized the man had just flipped him over onto the ground. He fought to draw in a breath, but was only able to once before the man was sitting on top of him. He reared back a fist, face twisted in rage, and Gwaine flinched in wait for the blow. But then, suddenly, Merlin was there. He wrapped an arm around the man's throat and pulled him backwards. Flailing, the man, struggled for a moment, his not inconsiderable weight shifting on Gwaine's torso painfully. He then raised his elbow and connected it with Merlin's ribs…hard. Merlin gasped and let go against his will, disappearing from Gwaine's line of sight.

Renewed with concern for his friend, Gwaine drew on his strength and pushed the man to the side, rolling over so that now he was on top. He raised his fist.

"Enough!" a powerful voice yelled. It was the voice that defined authority and control in Camelot.

Arthur. Crap.

Gwaine felt hands grabbing at him and trying to pull him off. He was still seething with rage, and fought against the grips of the guards.

"Let me go!" he yelled, "I need to punch his face in,"

"I said that's enough," Arthur's voice said firmly, his regal figure striding into view. Several more guards grabbed the man Gwaine had been fighting, and pulled him to a standing position as well. Gwaine noted with satisfaction that his lip was split from Gwaine's earlier punch. "What happened here?" Arthur growled, standing between the two. Gwaine spoke up, wrestling against the arms holding him back,

"He attacked Merlin,"

…..

Merlin wasn't feeling too good.

He felt nauseous, to begin with. Not just because he'd been pummeled mercilessly in the stomach…twice, while he had a very small, but rather painful, wound in his side. He felt…heavy. As if there were something inside of him that shouldn't be there. It was a black, creeping feeling. A caustic pain originating from the prick at his hip to web out into his torso and up his throat, making it itch and close up slightly. Darkness peppered the corners of his sight, and he was having trouble focusing on anything he saw. He supposed it was just as well, considering the fact that there were a couple dozen onlookers watching the scene unfold. And he'd rather not have their expressions in good focus.

Of course, this didn't stop him from seeing Arthur's face, which was getting bigger as he approached after ordering the guards to bring the man who had attacked him to the cells until further notice. It morphed from calm, cool control into concern as he caught sight of his manservant, on his hands and knees trying very hard not to retch into the dirt. He was fairly certain he was shaking, as well.

He focused on one small pebble in the confusing myriad of the gravel in an effort stop the world from swirling wildly around him. Merlin would have tried to stand up and convince Arthur that he was okay so he could make a quick escape and not have to go through the torture of talking to either him or Gwaine, but he was afraid he would make himself sick in doing it.

When he'd seen the long haired knight trying to defend him from his attacker, Merlin had been immediately overcome with very many overwhelming emotions. He'd felt malice and bitterness, relief and fear. He was mad at Gwaine. More mad than he had ever been with the man. Of all of the knights, Gwaine had been the one Merlin had watched for as he waited in that cell. He'd waited for his reassuring grin, a bad joke, an encouraging hand ruffling his hair. But Gwaine had never shown up.

And now, Merlin didn't want to see him.

He felt so confused. He was angry at all of them. He felt as if none of them had really cared. As if he had been a nice pastime, goofy servant who was handy to have around on quests, and fun to play a few jokes on.

He felt…used.

At the sight of Gwaine, the most prominent thing he felt was a terrible, terrible _humiliation_. He'd managed to convince himself the knight before that none of them really cared. They couldn't, not after having so willingly given up on him.

But then Gwaine had risked himself to save Merlin. And the warlock wondered if he was wrong.

But Merlin was still too angry to talk. He still was too afraid to get caught up again, to be entangled in his friendships. He wanted out. But he didn't.

Again, confusion. Now he felt like throwing up.

Really, it seemed circumstances were against him at every angle.

He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, feeling an irrational frustration and desperation begin to swell in his gut. What was wrong with him?

"Merlin, are you okay? Are you injured?" Arthur's voice was suddenly by his ear, and Merlin felt his warm hand on his shoulder.

At his touch, something inside of Merlin, that black, foreign sensation, that had been coiled tightly in his conscious, grew stronger. This, mixed with the anger he had been feeling the day before, the resentment and betrayal, led him to recoil from the king's efforts.

"I'm fine," he snapped, waving his hand frantically, silently urging Arthur to just leave him alone as he stumbled to his feet in a numb frenzy. As soon as he had his legs beneath him, he was overcome with a wave of dizziness and nausea, and he swayed on the spot. Arthur reached forward to help, his trained features betraying a cautious worry. Merlin pulled back and stumbled,

"I said I'm fine!" he repeated, louder this time. He didn't want Arthur's help. Not after it all. He didn't want to have to rely on anyone anymore. Not anymore. But Arthur's face…he seemed so _earnest_.

Merlin's head was starting to hurt.

The guards had let Gwaine go, and Merlin realized he was also walking towards him,

"Merlin, mate, you're bleeding," he breathed, eyes catching the trickle of red spreading down Merlin's lower shirt and into his trousers. Merlin covered it with his hand, and shook his head,

"It's nothing," he said, backing up. Gwaine followed his steps, as Arthur stood in place with an intense, reading stare on his face. Merlin really hated that look,

"Look, Merlin, I'm sorry," Gwaine said, spreading his hands in a gesture of peace, "I was an idiot. A complete _idiot_. I'm sorry I didn't say anything when…when Gwen said…you know. I mean, I wanted to, I just…I'm so sorry, Merlin,"

People were starting to disperse now, the excitement gone. Merlin was glad of it. He really, _really_ didn't want to make a scene by losing his temper. And he was sure he was going to. Seeing Gwaine's apologetic, hopeful eyes, and placating smile, Merlin was filled with memories of sitting in the dark, waiting for news of Arthur's death and the confirmation of his own, impending. And then Arthur's face, hard and searching, as if he just couldn't figure it out.

They really never had taken the time to really know Merlin, had they? Merlin really never could let them find out, could he?

It was just too much.

All the hurt and grief, fury and resentment, everything, built up from ten years of living for the cause…it became too much.

Merlin exploded.

A crazed, humorless laugh escaped his lips. Loud and long, he let the emotions color his wheezing cackles, raising his gaze to the heavens in complete surrender to his own fate. Running out of breath, he gasped for air, glancing down he saw the concerned faces of both Gwaine and Arthur, as if they were truly unsure of Merlin's sanity,

"You're sorry?" he said, "You're sorry. You're _both_ sorry. That's just…amazing, to me," Merlin felt hot tears prick at his eyes, despite the fact that inside, he felt nothing but empty. When he next spoke, after a few moments of heavy silence, his voice was slow, and shattered, "I don't care if you're sorry, anymore. I've accepted every 'sorry' I've ever heard for the past ten years. I've been…" here, his voice cracked, a tear detaching and trailing down his cheek into his mouth. The word he spoke next was weighed down and embodied by all the years of failures and losses and unfulfilled dreams he'd ever suffered, laced with grief and fragility, "…undone. And you're just so _sorry_," Merlin took a shaky breath, stepping backwards and refusing to meet the eyes of his two former friends, "I don't want to do it anymore. I don't want to forgive," he turned around, still holding himself and staring at the ground,

"I want to forget," he finished solemnly, and then began walking.

No one followed.

…

Guinevere reached behind her head and lowered the hood of her cloak, feeling the cool air and fresh scent of the royal gardens carried by a gentle breeze caress her cheeks.

She had no mind for any of it.

Her mind was filled with a victorious march of a job fulfilled. Her entire being was consumed with the fact that she had done well, that a nuisance would seen be out of the way of her plans. Morgana would be so happy with her.

She smiled widely at the thought, feeling an ache in her chest from the desire to see her friend. She reached past her cloak and fingered the hilt of the enchanted dagger, given back to her by the man she had hired to make sure the metal touched Merlin's blood.

The enchantment had been designed by Morgana especially. It was a "corrosive" spell, Morgana had said. Gwen didn't know the particulars, but she trusted that it would serve their purposes well.

Merlin would be dead within a week.

Arthur would not escape them. Not again

….

Merlin threw open the door to his and Gaius' chambers, startling the old man as the wood slammed against the inner wall.

"Merlin!" Gaius said in surprise, setting down the potion he had been preparing. He felt a frown overtake his face at the sight of the boy's red-rimmed eyes and sweaty, bedraggled appearance. He then noticed the small amount of blood showing through his clothes between his fingers, and felt that familiar flash of worry course through him.

Stupid boy, what had he done now?

"Merlin," Gaius repeated, walking forward and touching the boy's arm. He was staring at the ground with a haunted look in his eyes, his breathing labored and intense, "Come here," Gaius said gently, leading him over to the bench in the middle of the room. Merlin followed along numbly, and plopped into the seat with an exhaustion that was simply wrong for a person his age to be feeling.

"Gaius…" he whispered, voice wavering barely above a whisper.

"Shh…" Gaius said soothingly, sitting down next to him and wrapping an arm about his shoulders, brushing the raven locks away from his blood shot eyes with his other hand. Merlin didn't seem to hear him, and began rambling quietly,

"I…I yelled at them, Gaius. I told them I didn't want…I've pushed them all away…" Gaius tried to quiet him but he might as well have been talking to the bench, for the reaction Merlin gave him, "I don't have anyone anymore," Merlin murmured brokenly. He turned his gaze to his mentor, eyes filled to brimming with tears, and the weight of the ages, his young face so weary and broken with sorrow that Gaius felt his heart clench with an indescribable pity,

"I'm alone,"

...

A/N: Oh my gosh, when did I become such an evil person? D: All these terrible things I'm doing to Merlin...I wasn't like this before! Darn you fanfiction. Anyhow, please **Review **and tell me what you thought! I would really, really like to know what you think. I want to be a published author someday, so any advice, constructive criticism, (ahem) praise, you can give me would just be awesome. :D You guys are so great!

PS: Was I the only one seriously disappointed by episode 10 of Merlin season 5?

Merry Christmas everybody! God bless. :)

PPS: By the way, when did the holidays start coming so quickly? What happened to the days when a few eternities would pass before Christmas came? Anyways, have a nice day!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: OK, next chapter. :D Sorry for the wait, guys, but I hope some of the emotional angst makes up for it. :) This is a bit short, and not so much happens action-wise as there is foreshadowing, but I'm still rather proud of it. Happy reading!

...

Morgana drank deeply of the cool night air, letting the moist smell of recently fallen rain fill her nostrils, the feeling of triumph brimming inside of her. Her arms crossed, she stepped away from the tree her back was leaned against, the hem of her dress sweeping through the muddy surface of the dirt and dragging behind her.

"You have done well, Gwen. You are certain the enchantment has touched his blood?"

"I am positive," Gwen's voice said from behind her. Morgana's lips tugged upward in a quiet smirk,

"Very good," Morgana sensed Gwen hesitate from behind her, "what is it?"

"I am just curious, milady," Gwen began, "What exactly will the enchantment…_do_, to Merlin?"

Morgana twirled around in place, locking eyes with her puppet queen. She narrowed her gaze, though smiled winningly,

"I told you…it is a corrosive spell."

"Forgive me, but, won't suspicions rise when Merlin's body is found, destroyed by sorcery?" Morgana shook her head,

"The spell does not destroy his body. It is specifically designed to eat away at the victim's spirit, his _soul_. Eventually, Merlin will be left so empty of everything that drives him, everything that keeps him going, he will end his own life. We won't have to lift a finger,"

Gwen's face split in a satisfied smile, and Morgana mirrored the expression.

Merlin will suffer, and then, by his own hand, he will die.

…..

Gaius swirled the tonic within the vial, watching the grotesque liquid stick to and stain the glass inside. It was a sickly yellow color, with chunks of darker, textured pieces in its substance.

Though Gaius was far more partial towards obligatory tolerance when it came to medicine, he had to agree with Merlin. It really was disgusting, sometimes.

Gaius frowned at the thought of his ward. He closed his eyes tiredly, and pinched the bridge of his nose, remembering the boy's red-rimmed eyes and blood stained shirt and haunted demeanor. He tried in vain to push those thought aside, though, for not only were they a terrible inconvenience in distracting him from his work, but they also kindled certain emotions in him that he knew couldn't possibly lead to good ends if indulged.

Thinking of his selfless, loyal, brave, _brave_ ward being torn apart by loneliness and betrayal…

It made him angry. Angry on Merlin's behalf.

Merlin was a complex young man. He would have to be, to confuse Gaius so. Well, maybe not confuse so much as exasperate and worry to a prolonged extent that couldn't possibly be healthy for either of them. From the moment he had walked into Gaius' life, he'd been trouble.

Gaius had known he'd be trouble. He'd known that when he fell from the railing, only to be held aloft in midair, and then cushioned by a bed that had previously been on the other side of the room. Of course, he'd immediately told Merlin that he couldn't do anything like that ever again, that he should keep his head down, make sure not to draw attention to himself. Merlin had cordially agreed, and then gone straight off on his merry way to call the prince an ass.

Merlin had than managed to save said prince's life, and had only gone on to save hundreds upon hundreds of other lives as part of his daily to-do list. He'd saved Arthur's life more times than Gaius could count, and the kingdom more times than he cared to. And all of this with an incomprehensible power that sometimes left both him and Gaius a little bit scared.

Gaius had never told Merlin this, but it hadn't just been Merlin's open display of magic the first day they met that had made him so flustered. The sheer _intensity_ of the power that he'd felt when Merlin cushioned him in the air…it had completely addled his mind. And then when he'd spun around to see the source of such a strange and miraculous gift, he'd been met with the sight of a gangly, awkward, slightly sheepish looking _boy_. A boy. That's all he was, and yet he was so much more. It had taken Gaius quite a long time to accept that so much raw power could be contained within such a person, _one_ person. But it had shown. Merlin had proven time and time again that he had the means required to protect Camelot, and restore Albion to the glory it was destined to for.

Merlin had changed many, many things around because of what he was. But also because of _who_ he was.

But that wasn't all. Merlin didn't stop there. In the space of a few years, he'd managed to change the character and attitude of everyone surrounding him.

Gaius hadn't been…happy, before Merlin came. He'd enjoyed his work, been contented with the people he knew. He'd had his books and his duties, and not enough time in the day to worry about much else.

But it had been a lonely life. There was no reason for someone to take the initiative to befriend an old man with a hushed past and a strange relationship with the king. He was likable enough when you met him. And an excellent physician. But, and Gaius had to admit it to himself, it had been his own fault that he never had any meaningful relationships…before Merlin.

After the Great Purge, an era that had left Gaius with far too many unsettling memories, he'd settled into a new kind of perspective towards life. He'd lost his love, much of his kin, and he'd been alone. Yes, the king had had a son, and, for a while, Arthur had been the one who gave him light during those dark days. The little golden prince with his toy swords and that loud, proud laugh, he'd been the reason for Gaius' smiles and better days. He'd tended to his skinned knees and broken wrists, all the while listening as the boy told him of his troubles, and confided in Gaius what he wouldn't dare to in anyone else. Gaius had become a second father, of sorts. At least, for a little while.

But as he grew into his manhood, and the ambition and drive of becoming a full fledged prince had nourished his pride, and inflated his ego, Arthur changed. Encouraged by the artificial adoration of his subjects and his knights, the prince had grown accustomed to hiding his insecurities and fears of failing behind a visual façade of perpetual masculinity and bravado. He'd picked on those weaker than him, become something of a bully, because he'd been afraid of rejection by those his father had taught him from an early age were the most important to think about. The noble man who loved his people and would give his life for them and the kingdom, had still been there, but had been hidden beneath a mask of egocentricity and overconfidence.

He'd no longer had the interest nor time to spare a thought for the old physician who'd first told him he was great.

But then Merlin had shown up.

It wasn't due to any magical intervention or all-powerful component of his destiny that had made Merlin change Arthur. He'd stood up to him with a bravery that was both stupid and admirable, telling him _exactly_ what he'd needed to hear. And had continued to do so, slowly but surely molding him into the great king he was and still was going to be by simply being _Merlin_.

He hadn't only saved Arthur though. And hadn't only saved the kingdom. He'd saved Gaius, as well.

Not that Gaius had been in any particular danger, per say. Though, he had physically rescued him from what might have been a mortal catastrophe when he'd fallen from that railing on that fateful day. But he had also taught Gaius how to believe again.

Gaius had been content with his life before Merlin came.

But he'd lost the fire of his youth. He'd focused on the menial tasks of every day life, and the small bits of warmth and comfort here or there. His goals had become purely utilitarian. He could spare no thought for fanciful tales and legends that he knew would either never come true or not in his lifetime. Gaius was ashamed to admit it, but he'd lost hope.

And then, Merlin had come stumbling into his life.

The boy was disarmingly honest, stunningly brave, frighteningly selfless. Gaius had seen that boy run into situations of complete peril with such a tenacity and courage that would leave any logical man completely dumbfounded. He had all the qualities of a true hero, something that Merlin would never believe, nor admit, he was. Because he also happened to be utterly humble. Sometimes, Gaius wondered how it was possible for someone so incredible to be able to let everyone think he was so little.

It wasn't these characteristics of heroism and servitude that had changed Gaius for the better, though. No, it hadn't been Merlin as a warlock that altered his life, gave him a reason to fight again. It was Merlin the person.

It was Merlin, the awkward, shy, curious, intelligent, loyal, loving, _happy_ boy, with a capacity for caring and forgiveness that left Gaius baffled. He was the one who left Gaius…humbled. Humbled, and ashamed. Because if such a young, naive, trusting person could suffer so much and still have the strength to push on, with nothing to gain for it, than Gaius was a coward for having spent so long without trying. Merlin had rekindled his hope, made him care. Given him a happiness, joy, and pride that the boy would never, ever understand was all because of him.

And so, Gaius was angry. Because someone who could give an old, bitter man happiness just because of his smile, could turn a nervous serving girl into a queen just because of his loyalty, and could turn an arrogant prince into a magnificent king just because of his friendship, didn't deserve to be alone. Because Merlin was there for everybody.

It was about damn time someone was there for him too.

…

Merlin woke to a bloody awful amount of noise.

He blearily lifted his heavy eyelids, reluctantly dragging himself from the wondrous oblivion of unconsciousness.

He was greeted not by the usual early morning sounds of the city, but, rather, what seemed to be some sort of terrible ruckus outside his door. Groaning, Merlin braced his hands on the cot and pulled himself into a sitting position. He hissed and clutched at his hip as the movement aggravated and stretched his wound. Cursing, he lifted his shirt to see if he had reopened it, but saw that the bandages Gaius had put there were only spotted with last night's blood.

He screwed up his face in concentration, trying to remember what exactly had happened when he came home last night. He only remembered a slight blur of numbness, as Gaius talked to him gently, dressed his wound, and led him to bed. Merlin must have been more exhausted than he thought, for he was sure he should have been up for hours contemplating and trying to sort through the thoughts swirling around in his head. He didn't remember anything past his head hitting the pillow, however.

Groaning at the sounds of arguing and bustling outside, he swung his legs to the floor and stood, walking over to the window and sticking his head out to see what time it was. A gust of cold wind smacked his face, and he quickly retreated back inside, grumbling to himself in annoyance.

He scratched the back of his head and than raked his hand through his hair, grimacing at a strange...sensation, he felt inside of him. He felt...invaded, violated. Like there was something else there, something that didn't belong, and was making him heavy, unbalanced. Trying to shrug it off as an aftereffect of blood loss, or...something (he really wasn't feeling all that sharp) he tried to welcome the discomfort, hoping that it would help him in ignoring the tumultuous storm of emotions and uncertainties threatening to force him back into bed.

Sighing, he slumped to his knees and onto his belly, and shimmied under his bed so that he could reach the boots underneath. Dragging himself out, mumbling all the while, he pulled them on and then walked to the door. He pressed his ear against the wood, and suddenly the muffled sounds of a conversation could be heard from within,

"…ook, Gaius. We just want to talk, we're not going to _do_ anything to him,"

Merlin furrowed his brow in recognition of the voice. Gwaine.

"Forgive me, Sir Gwaine, but it appears that you already have," Gaius' voice was cold. Calm, but laced with an underlying venom that left Merlin a bit surprised.

"Gaius," Leon's voice this time, respectful and cautious, "I know that he's angry with us, as he is right to be. But, Elyan is telling the truth, we mean no harm. We just want to…make amends,"

"I am sorry, milord," Gaius said, and his voice was not quite as cold, but sounded…disappointed, somehow, "It is not that I believe you mean him harm…it is just that I have no reason to believe it won't be done upon him, anyways. But I'm afraid that your actions have spoken louder than your words. None of you meant any harm when you watched, silently, as he was accused of treason. Your good intentions were overshadowed by your folly. And he was the one who paid the price,"

Merlin felt something fall into place inside of him. It was strange, not anger or even indignation. It was foreign, and strange, and emotion that seemed almost impossible to describe, and that left him rather dizzy and suddenly choked with grief. Was it…resignation? He was suddenly bombarded with one thought in his mind, one thing that overtook all else, and his knees almost buckled under the weight and finality of it.

It's never going to change. There's no reason to fight anymore.

The terrible thought had come inexplicably, and with alarming potency. He felt his mind being overtaken by despair, by remorse. As if he were mourning.

Fueled by a sudden desire to fight against this apathy, to push back against any form of _giving up_, he threw the door open, and strode out of the room.

He was immediately met with several sets of eyes. One belonging to Gaius, and the others belonging to several very surprised, very guilty looking knights. Leon, Percival, and Gwaine, all staring at him with varying degrees of apology and hope. Gwaine looked positively pleading, and Merlin had to look away, hands balled into fists at his sides as his eyes met the safer sight of the ground.

It did not escape his notice that Arthur wasn't there.

But why should you be surprised?

Quickly pushing back against that _dark_ feeling threatening to overwhelm him again, Merlin spoke, surprised, ashamed, oddly satisfied and terribly confused by the obvious note of bitterness in his voice,

"What do you want? I'm getting very tired of being woken by people who know full well I want to be alone,"

His words were harsh, cruel. But he couldn't stop them. He was drowning in this sudden, foreign certainty that none of them cared anyway, no matter what he did. So why should he even bother?

There was a moment of tense silence, and then, startlingly, Percival was the first to speak,

"Merlin, we know that…that we have failed you. Not just as knights, but as friends. We did something very, very stupid, and…we're sorry," here, he paused, and Merlin felt a slight tenseness in his shoulders ebb away, "We're not asking for forgiveness, because…well, because we don't deserve it. And we know there's no way we can ever make it up to you, but…we'd like nothing more than to try. To try and do better,"

Against his will, Merlin found his eyes drawing upwards to peer at the men in front of him. There faces were so open, so honest. And for a moment, just a moment, Merlin felt himself about to do it. To forgive again.

But then Gwaine smiled. And it was _that_ smile. It was the smile that Merlin had seen when he'd woken in the dungeons, starving and shaken from nightmares. The smile that spoke nothing but copious amounts of trust and certainty. It was the smile of a man who knew exactly what should happen next.

He knew Merlin would forgive them.

And suddenly, that foreign, prickling, black feeling somehow seated deep inside him, fueling his sorrow, grew to such an extent that Merlin almost feared he might collapse.

And that was it. The feeling of blackness and complete despair continued to grow inside of Merlin, strangling his heart and forming a solid, unmoving pit of absolute resolve in the pit of his stomach.

He was never going to be loved, like he had loved. He was on his own…and that was all there was.

"I wish I could believe you," Merlin said, and he watched as their faces fell, "I really wish I could. But…" his voice shuddered, and with one quiet, weak breath, he whispered, feeling hot tears form in his eyes, "It's just not going to work like that," he didn't sound angry, though he felt it, and his voice betrayed none of the fact he was feeling ill from grief, even though it was threatening to make his knees buckle, "I need to be alone now,"

Gwaine nodded, throat bobbing as he swallowed,

"Of course, mate, all the time you ne-"

"NO!" Merlin interrupted, and felt himself die just a little more inside as Gwaine's eyes took on a hint of fear. The knight knew what was coming, "I mean…I have to be _alone_. From now on,"

Gwaine was shaking his head, denial shining through his face as he stepped forward,

"No, no that's not true. You don't have to-"

But Merlin's thoughts must have shown in his eyes, because the knight's voice faded out, like the last light of a dying fire, and they both knew what came next.

"I'm sorry, Gwaine,"

And just like that, unable to take it anymore, Merlin rushed past them and out the door. Because if he couldn't forget...he would run.

...

A/N: Don't worry! **Merlin is not leaving Camelot!** Okay, so, there you have it. Like I said, not too much action, but, don't worry, I have quite a bit planned out in this story. :) Feel free, and really this is just a nice way of me saying "please please I beg of you!", to leave a **Review** to tell me what you're thinking so far. I'm just so happy with the response this story has gotten, and just want to say thanks to all my lovely reviewers, followers, favorit(umm)ers. :D You guys have been so awesome. Now, just to let you know, this story does have an actual plot, and not just emotional angst (though there is an abundance of this coming, I promise you), and I'm hoping to surprise you with a few interesting twists later on. ;) Once again, thank you all, and have a wonderful rest of the weekend!


	6. Chapter 6

Mordred traced the outline of the mug's rim as he stared into it, captivated by the swirling motions of the ale. At least, it would look like it to anyone who happened to glance his way. Actually, Mordred didn't much regard alcohol as a worthwhile refreshment, let alone an indulgent for his time. In truth, he was just trying very hard to control the anger building up inside of him as he listened intently to the conversation between the knights at his table.

"I just don't understand," Gwaine was saying, his voice slurred from slight tipsiness, and self-pity, "What does he want from us? We apologized, didn't we?" He, Leon, and Percival had all been saying things much along the same lines as this for the past fifteen minutes or so. The discussion had started out intended towards figuring out how to get Merlin to become their friend again. It had quickly morphed, however, into a commiserating circle in which the knights lamented their own sorrows, and complained in ignorance, instead of trying to find a solution. Mordred was afraid he might lose his temper, the way this was going.

Leon, who had been gazing into his cup, shook his head mournfully without looking up,

"His reaction to our mistakes is…understandable. But I have to agree with Gwaine. We have tried to make amends, but any effort on our part has been pushed away. He obviously doesn't want to regain our friendship,"

Mordred almost visibly rankled, but managed to keep his face impassive.

"Was there something I said to him that…that might have hurt him further?" Percival asked, looking tentative sitting at Mordred's left. Gwaine and Leon both shook their heads. Gwaine took a large swig from his drink and swiped a sleeve across his mouth,

"You were very kind, my friend," he said, eyes set on Percival, "If you did say anything worth the response he gave, I didn't notice it,"

_You don't notice many things_, Mordred thought bitterly as he raised the mug to his lips, as if to drown the fury continuing to rise up his throat, threatening to break his apathetic façade. It was not in his nature to get involved in quarrels and dramas not his own. To do so was folly. Living alone for so many years had taught him that much, and the resulting consequences had only led to more isolation. And to be frank, he liked it that way.

He enjoyed the knights' company. They were boisterous and brave, unlike the quiet and demure Druids that Mordred was so used to, and fond of. And though they often teased and pranked him, he found their easy friendship, enthusiasm, and passion both refreshing and stimulating. He was actually starting to feel his actual age.

But they were most definitely not the deepest thinkers.

Mordred's relationship with Merlin was…complicated, at best. But he could see, in his eyes, how much he had gone through. How much he still went through. He had a wariness about him, a terrible suspicion and hard won understanding of the world that was…sad, in someone his age. One thing Mordred had learned to appreciate growing up as a Druid was that innocence was precious.

And Merlin had lost his long ago. Far too early.

And then there were his friends, wallowing in their own so-called slights.

Mordred hated one thing above all else. Injustice. And this was it.

"Maybe that's the problem" he muttered quietly into his cup. He hadn't realized it was loud enough for anyone to hear, but the faces of his comrades turned towards him with various expressions of confusion,

"What?" Gwaine said.

"There are a great many things that you seem incapable, or unwilling to understand," Mordred elaborated. Leon furrowed his brow in contemplation while Gwaine and Percival glanced at each other, and then back to Mordred. Gwaine looked slightly angry,

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, and then sighed, "Look, we _tried_ to make up with him…but he just…doesn't want to forgive us," Mordred slammed his mug down and stood, pulsing with anger,

"Yes, I'm sure that's it. The man who runs into battle with you, saves your life, is loyal and _there _for all of you through anything no matter the cost to his own soul, or the treatment you give him, doesn't _want_ to forgive you," Mordred glared at each of them in turn, "Frankly I wouldn't blame him if he didn't. But it's a disservice to Merlin to say so. He's given far too much of himself to be let go of so easily. For once in your life, be as good a friend to him as he always is to you. Now gird up your loins, forget about your own hurt feelings, and _fix it_,"

With that, Mordred stood a bit awkwardly, clenching and unclenching his hands as the knights stared at him with varying degrees of shock and epiphany. He opened his mouth and drew in a breath, but then closed it abruptly, merely gave a curt nod, and then spun his heel, and headed out the door. As he walked out into the streets, he allowed himself a small smile of triumph.

Perhaps, he had just taken a small step towards gaining Emrys's trust.

And maybe, Merlin's friendship.

…

Merlin was starting to get angry.

At first, he had been somewhat alarmed. The depression hadn't exactly been unexpected. After all, he'd basically willingly, _purposefully _relinquished all the meaningful relationships in his life, save for Gaius. And though he spent much time mulling over and regretting this decision, he hadn't been so distracted that he didn't notice the concerning change within himself.

Not that there was much to keep him occupied, mind. Now unemployed, he'd spent the past few days either doing chores and errands for Gaius, or wandering around, avoiding human contact with an uncanny precision that he knew wasn't healthy. His guardian was worried about him, and, frankly, Merlin couldn't blame him. To be honest, Merlin was worried too.

At first, the depression had been manageable. He could still bring himself to smile and be moderately sociable. He'd even started looking for work. But then, it had grown increasingly worse. He'd lost his appetite, eating no more than a few bites of food a day. It hurt to see other people laughing, talking, sharing. _Loving_. He found no comfort in Gaius' questions, but neither was silence his ally. Dark or light, surrounded or alone, Merlin suffered. It hurt to live. It hurt to _breathe_.

It wasn't so much the fact that menial, everyday tasks required a herculean effort on his part just to get done. It wasn't the fact that it was only after a titanic mental battle could he get out of bed in the morning. It wasn't even that, in dark, smothering moments of such complete and utter sadness it was suffocating, he found himself staring for prolonged amounts of time at things of sharp, poisonous, and generally deadly nature. None of these were the things that finally made him snap.

It was his magic.

Beneath all the emotional and mental turmoil, slowly ripping him apart from the inside out, his magic was screaming out to him in agony and defiance as it was dragged, deeper and deeper into the darkness. The darkness that was growing more and more inside of him. It was taking his magic, eating away at it, weakening it, so much so that he refused to do anything more than light a candle, for fear that he would fail trying. And he was afraid that soon it would be gone…completely.

Merlin might be being slowly destroyed by an unutterable despair, an aching loneliness, and a black, seething pit of loss and grief inside of him. But first he'd been alarmed. And then he'd been sad.

And now…he was angry. And he knew _exactly_ who to blame.

"Gwen!"

Merlin bellowed with a malice that shouldn't have accompanied such a name. A name that had once meant warm smiles and honest friendship. Now, it meant nothing but the puppet queen in front of him, whirling around from her place at the mirror of her chambers to give him a look of surprise. Seeing who it was, her widened eyes than drooped, her parted lips met and then curled upward in an ugly sneer that only further enraged Merlin. It was the sort of look that should not belong on Gwen's face. _His_ Gwen's face.

Of course, his Gwen was no longer there.

"Merlin," Gwen purred, standing slowly from her chair, and absently plucking an invisible speck of dust from her crimson, silk dress, before redirecting her attention to the man standing in front of her, "How may I be of service?"

Merlin stepped further into the chambers, shutting the door behind him that he had just burst through, and locking it,

"What have you done?" he demanded, cutting to the chase. Gwen's face contorted into an exaggerated look of confusion, and she folded her hands in front of her, tilting her head to the side with an innocent air,

"Why, whatever do you mean?"

The sarcasm, the condescension. It was familiar to Merlin, so like Morgana, it made him want to throw up.

He strode forward, watching as she swayed backward almost imperceptibly when he came too close, the hint of fear not matching the impassive and unimpressed condition of her face. It shone in her eyes, though.

"To me," Merlin repeated, standing not a foot in front of her, "What have you done _to me_?"

"To you?" she echoed. Her lips puckered in a slight pout, her forehead wrinkled in distaste, "Why on earth would we be interested in _you_, Merlin?"

"I'm a danger to your plans," he said easily, crossing his arms.

"Hah! Don't flatter yourself, _boy_," Gwen smirked, mimicking his gesture, "How could you, clumsy, imbecilic, _servant_ possibly be a threat? You're not worth her time of day," she waved her hand dismissively, averting her eyes as if he were something offensive to look upon, "A nuisance, is what you are. Leave now, before I call the guards on you,"

Merlin could only assume that when Gwen said "she", she meant Morgana. He said nothing, though. Her words had stung. More than they normally would. Even though he knew the person in front of him was most definitely _not_ Guinevere, hearing the words from her mouth was…painful. Especially, in his state. Every insult added the weight of a thousand stones to his heavy heart. His anger grew.

He was never one to take things lying down.

…..

"Oh, I can assure you, milady," Merlin growled quietly, stopping Gwen in her tracks as she began to turn away from him to sit down again. Her shoulders tensed, her back became a rigid, straight line. The ferocity in Merlin's voice had been enough to do that, at least.

"I am far more than just a nuisance," Gwen spun to face him, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. Unbeknownst to Merlin, her hand began to snake towards the desk behind her, even as she spoke,

"Well, of course you are," her voice was derisive, venomous, but her eyes, the slight modicum of shakiness to her knees, she was afraid betrayed the twinge of fear resounding in her heart, "You are also a _fool_,"

To her growing trepidation, Merlin simply smiled, his deep blue eyes hooded by the darkness of his protruding, prominent brow, and the signs of weariness beneath. It was a wicked smile. Gwen didn't like it.

"Perhaps, I am," he said, so quietly she had to strain to hear, "In order to do this, I'd have to be, wouldn't I?" Gwen swallowed, unable to stop herself,

"What do you mean?" she asked in a voice just as low, masking the tremble behind it. Her hand closed around the knob of the drawer, and she began pulling it out, slowly. Merlin folded his hands behind his back, and took a step backwards, towards the door. Gwen involuntarily twitched to follow. He still wore a smirk on his face as he answered,

"I'm going to tell Arthur. About you. About what you've done. Morgana. Everything," Gwen felt her breaths becoming shorter, she fumbled with the object in the drawer before purchasing a grip on what she knew was the hilt of her dagger.

She would tell the knights that he had made the first move…

"You wouldn't dare," she breathed, her fingers tightening their hold. Merlin cocked his head, and grinned,

…She had only defended herself. She'd had no choice….

"Watch me," he then spun on his heel, and strode towards the door.

Gwen's heart pounded, her mind spun, she rushed forward.

She couldn't let him ruin everything. She just couldn't.

…

Merlin realized as soon as he turned around that he'd just done something incredibly stupid.

It was this realization that made him glance back over his shoulder, and, as a matter of fact, saved his life.

Gwen shrieked as she charged, dagger raised high over her head. Merlin caught her wrist just in time, the point of the blade just a few inches from his left eye. Gwen clasped her other hand around his throat, and he pried it off, holding both back away from himself as both he and Gwen struggled to gain the upper hand. Merlin kept an eye on the dagger, watching as it got closer and closer to his face. He stepped back. And tripped.

He hit the ground hard, the collision of his back with the stone knocking the air from his lungs. He fought to regain it as Gwen pounced on top of him, snarling with a mad gleam in her eye, as she brought her dagger down once again. He caught her arm with both hands, and held it back. He was stronger than her, but he hadn't slept in three days, and had eaten only miniscule amounts.

"Help!" Gwen shrieked in a voice laced with terror, even as she fought to pierce Merlin's skull between the eyes. It wasn't really needed though. Merlin could already hear the sounds of the guards struggling to open the door, calling their queen's name in a panic.

He realized that he had locked the door behind him. He had trapped himself in a room with a dagger-wielding, malevolent pawn queen, and he had no real magic to speak of.

Damn him.

He roared, lending strength to his weary muscles and pushed against her with all the force he could muster. Gwen screamed as she was thrown off of him. Merlin scrambled to his feet, and turned just in time to see her charging again. He deftly sidestepped, and tackled her as she fumbled, sending them both onto the edge of the bed. She clawed and swiped and stabbed, desperately trying to hit Merlin as he fought to remain on top. She wass creaming and fake sobbing all the while, as if she weren't the one with the knife.

Somehow, miraculously, Merlin managed to wrestle away the weapon, and he held it back, blade poised threateningly in her direction. Her torso lay flat on the mattress, but her feet were still on the floor, and he held her down with his forearm across her upper chest. For one brief moment that left Merlin's soul staggering, Gwen's eyes went wide in absolute terror and despair. And it was as if she had plunged the knife in Merlin's heart, after all.

And he couldn't draw a breath.

Suddenly, hands grabbed at his shoulders, roughly pulling him back, and throwing him backward. Merlin almost went sprawling, but managed to regain his footing. When he raised his head, his mind went numb with denial and disbelief as he saw…Arthur.

Arthur gently pulled Gwen to an upright position, and she desperately threw her arms around him. She began frantically jabbing her finger in Merlin's direction,

"He-He…" she gasped between her sobs, "He attacked me…I don't know wh-why he would," she broke off into uncontrollable crying, shaking in Arthur's arms as she wetted his shirt with her tears.

Merlin couldn't even speak. His throat had closed up. Terror encompassed him.

He was roughly seized, and pushed to his knees. The sound seemed to echo in his head. He struggled against their hold,

"Arthur! Don't believe her. She's lying!" he cried.

Arthur stood, taking Gwen with him, and turned to Merlin. His mouth was hanging open, slightly. Uncertainty shone in his eyes.

"It's Morgana," Merlin tried again, "She's under her spell. She's lying to you, Arthur!"

Gwen looked upon Merlin with piteous, horror struck eyes. As if he were a rabid dog. Arthur turned to her, and back to Merlin, and back to her. He hesitated.

Normally, Merlin wouldn't have been hurt by this. Arthur had every right to be torn, to be confused. But it did. It hurt.

Merlin's head was buzzing with exhaustion, his heart ached with grief, his magic was weeping, chained in darkness.

And he was overwhelmed by one thought cycled through his head over and over and over again. He's going to kill me…Arthur's going to kill me…he's going to kill me…

Merlin's magic gather together. Whatever semblance was left pooled in his veins, tightened and strengthened the sinews and muscles of his limbs. His heart hardened against the pain that he knew would come with his actions.

He began fighting. He struggled and pushed against the guards, crying out as he did so. Their grips loosened, slackened, and then slipped. He broke free with a roar, and the guards were thrown off of him.

He sprinted from the room before they could recover. He didn't look back to see Arthur's face, Gwen's traitorous grin of triumph. He ignored the pain like fire spreading through him, ignored the sensation of his magic receding, deeper than ever before into the darkness, until he could scarcely feel it.

He just ran.

...

A/N: So, tell me what you thought! Good? Bad? Was my cliffy evil enough for you? ;) What did you guys think of BAMF Mordred? I think this is probably the only appearance he'll be making in the story. But tell me if you'd like to see him again, or not. :) Sorry for the long wait on this, guys. There's been a lot going on. That coupled with my usual laziness and, woohoo, you get a two week period between chapters. So, thanks for your patience. :) I'll try to update sooner this time.


	7. Chapter 7

Arthur didn't know what to think. Merlin's eyes were bright and fearful, Gwen was weeping in his embrace. He'd walked in on the sight of his manservant straddling his wife against their bed, a knife poised to strike. And he couldn't force his mind to think critically, to sort out the situation.

Merlin was talking to him. Something about Morgana controlling Gwen and that Arthur had to believe him, but Arthur couldn't process or address any of it amidst the clamor of questions and the buzz of disbelief in his head.

He looked at Gwen, her tear streaked, pitying expression, and then back to Merlin and his quivering shoulders and face twisted in a silent plea for trust, and he didn't know what to do.

He didn't know.

And then, Merlin's expression changed, from something that left Arthur confused and unsure, into something that made him cold all over, and even more unsure.

Betrayal.

What happened next wasn't something Arthur had the capacity to register, let alone counteract. Merlin wrenched his arms from the guards' grips, throwing all of them off balance simultaneously. He then roared and pushed at them. They all stumbled backwards, and Arthur felt his jaw hit the floor at seeing his scrawny, skinny, clumsy manservant throw off four trained soldiers.

Merlin sprinted from the room, leaving an assortment of disoriented people in his wake.

Arthur didn't move. He couldn't. Not when the guards recovered and chased after his servant, not even as Gwen began to speak,

"Arthur, I'm sorry. I…had no idea that Merlin was that kin-"

"No," Arthur interrupted, and felt Gwen flinch next to him. His voice wasn't harsh, or even commanding. It was a simple statement, one colored with the uncertainty he felt as he stared at the ground, brow furrowed in deep concentration. His thoughts whirled, his stomach sunk further and further as his rational mind battled for control over his senses. Something began to occur to him, something fighting through the mist of shock and denial that had settled over his consciousness…

"Darling?" Gwen asked curiously, and Arthur couldn't help but notice the fact that her voice had become inexplicably, and drastically less shaky than it had been moments before. He thought furiously, images of Merlin's large, hopeful, imploring eyes filling his vision. And then, it clicked in his head, something that discarded any semblance of control over his thoughts he'd been struggling to hold on to out the window,

"How'd he get it?" Arthur asked. He looked up, and locked eyes with Gwen. He watched as the brown orbs dilated, and he looked deep into them, searching for the warmth that was as familiar to him as that of the sun. But there was nothing, nothing that he could see. And he suddenly felt as if he had discovered something. As if he were bathed in a cold wash of realization. He still felt dizzy with confusion, and didn't know what had happened, or what had brought it about.

But there was more to this than met the eye. Something Arthur knew, knew in his _bones_, he had been missing.

"Arthur? What do you mean?" Gwen questioned, her voice tilting infinitesimally towards that tremble it had held just a few moments ago,

"The dagger," Arthur said, flitting his eyes over to the one in question, the one laying cold and still on the ground where Merlin had dropped it, "It's the one I got you for our anniversary,"

Gwen's throat bobbed, she lifted her hand from where it had been resting on Arthur's shoulder and took one small, uncomfortable step away from him,

"I'm afraid I don't understand," she said, her brow puckering in trepidation. Arthur didn't take his eyes away from hers, though she seemed to be searching for anything else to look at besides his,

"How did Merlin know where it was?" Arthur asked, closing the distance that she had created between the two of them with a slight movement forward, "You told me you had hid it, in a place only you knew about. How did he find it?"

Gwen swallowed again, and Arthur felt a twinge in his gut at the sight of her opening and closing her mouth, obviously searching for some kind of answer.

He felt the buzzing in his head increase, the sickness in his stomach becoming alarmingly potent. Who did he believe? Who was he supposed to believe?

He couldn't stay there anymore. He needed to find Merlin. He needed answers.

He needed to leave.

Arthur gave her one last, meaningful look, one that he hoped conveyed the fact that he was not done trying to figure this all out, and then brushed past her. He practically dashed out the door, and began running after his manservant.

There were a great many explanations owed to Arthur. And he intended to collect.

…..

Gwaine walked down the corridor, and to anyone who saw him it was his normal, fearless stride. Though anyone who _knew _him would notice the slight hesitation as his boots hit the cobblestone, the abnormal tenseness to his shoulders, the uncharacteristic trepidation in his deep brown eyes. He was going to do something that he rarely did without an abundant amount of humor and no small measure of charm. But this was different. Mordred was right. He was going to go to Merlin, he was going to sit down in front of him, look him straight in the eye, and-

"Oomph!" Gwaine turned the corner only to be rammed by a sprinting, panting figure.

"Woah there, mate.," Gwaine chuckled as he steadied the man, "Where's the fi…Merlin?" And it was Merlin. Wide eyed and sweating, face flushed and pinched with panic. His eyes only seemed to get bigger as he saw who was currently holding him by the wrists. Terror accompanied the recognition flashing across his eyes, and he looked over his shoulder,

"Let me go," he choked out as he turned back to Gwaine. Gwaine paid him no heed, though. This was going to end now,

"Look, Merlin, I know I'm the last person you want to talk to right now. Hell, I wouldn't even want to look at me, if I were you. But, I have something to s-"

"Let me go!" Merlin repeated. Gwaine didn't, but instead took a closer look at his panicked friend. Merlin kept staring anxiously back over his shoulder down the hallway, fighting against Gwaine's grip. He was shaking, Gwaine could feel the tremors. Beneath the copious amounts of fear and worry written plainly on his face, he could see something else…pain? But was it physical? Gwaine's frown deepened, and for the first time, he looked down the corridor Merlin had come from. He could distantly hear the sounds of clamoring, angry voices.

"Merlin," Gwaine started, but was cut off. Merlin with a sound between a grunt and an agonized cry, broke free of Gwaine's grasp, and reared back a fist. Normally, Gwaine could have stopped the blow, or sidestepped it, but he was just so completely _discombobulated _by the fact that Merlin was _hitting_ him, that he couldn't even think, let alone act.

Merlin's fist connected with his cheek, and even as Gwaine stumbled backward and Merlin sprinted past him, he was somewhat dimly aware of the fact that his former friend, through what seemed to be a haze of terror and madness, had purposefully avoided his nose, teeth, and eyes. Gwaine tripped and fell to one knee, dazed and distantly impressed that Merlin had managed such a powerful blow.

He stood, and made to pursue his friend, but was knocked down again by several armed guards, shouting and yelling orders as they ran after Merlin. Gwaine got up again, and this time, twirled around with bent knees, waiting for the next onslaught. But, there was no one there. He blinked, then huffed and turned around once again to race after Merlin, but was foiled.

"Gwaine!"

Gwaine groaned in disappointment, eager to reach his friend, fully intending to balance out the great amounts of concern he felt with some answers. Arthur's voice sounded again behind him, repeating his name, and Gwaine turned to face him. Arthur had obviously been running, as well, and bent over his knees to catch his breath once he reached the knight,

"Where's…Merlin?" Arthur gasped out as he restored himself to an upright position. Gwaine glared at him, easily allowing himself to believe that this prat was most likely the cause of Merlin's unhappiness once again,

"Just ran past here, along with the whole army on his tail. What'd you do to him this time, princess?" Gwaine asked. Arthur didn't even seem to have the presence of mind to return the snarky comments with a glare of his own, too busy peering past Gwaine in the direction the knight had indicated as Merlin's escape route,

"What's happened?" Gwaine repeated, this time making sure his tone conveyed just how little he really wanted to fool around right now. Arthur seemed to notice his existence again, and then returned Gwaine's serious expression,

"There's no time. I need to get to him before they do," he said. Gwaine opened his mouth, to say something quite similar, except with a message tagged at the end entreating Arthur not to push his luck and hone in on Gwaine's territory. He'd wanted to talk to Merlin first, after all. But they were interrupted.

A commotion could be heard below in the courtyard, and Arthur and Gwaine glanced at the window in the wall next to them, and then at each other, before rushing to it.

They caught a glimpse of a fleeting figure, a raven capped head riding out of the courtyard on a horse, creating a ruckus as several guards tripped over baskets and bales of hay in a clumsy pursuit.

"He's heading out of the city," Gwaine said, mouth hanging open in alarm. Arthur was spurred into action by this comment, and shoulder past Gwaine in a hurry,

"Oh, no, you don't!" Gwaine called and spun around to follow after his king, "I'm coming, too,"

….

Merlin didn't get very far before he ran into Gwaine.

He didn't remember much of the encounter, to be honest. He remembered the pain emanating through his person, his magic screaming in his head and heart and soul. He remembered a blind panic climbing up his throat, and Gwaine trapping him there with his hands. He remembered his vision growing darker, and his reluctance breaking away as Kilgarrah's voice began to sound in his head,

_Come, young warlock. Into the forest, we must have words_.

Merlin vaguely recalled punching Gwaine, and it actually having some effect. But guilt was a rather weak emotion fighting for his attention amid the pulsing pain, the black despair eating away at him until he almost fell of the horse he'd taken from the stables. He needed to get to Kilgarrah. Some raw, organic instinct engrained in his being pushed him to answer the call of his dragon. That was something he could focus on, something he understood, something he knew wouldn't cause him to choke with the weight of it.

His legs began to burn as he kept the horse at a steady, racing pace. He pressed his forehead against its coarse mane, flying blindly further into the woods and into solitude. His magic was no longer something he could draw upon, could feel inside of him unless he searched for it. It was a spark, and almost non existent glimmer within the dark abyss of his spirit.

Slowly, he felt Kilgarrah's presence getting closer, more distinct, and the dragon's voice resounded through his skull once again,

_The clearing, young warlock. Guide your steed to me._

Merlin forced his eyes open, and saw the blur of colors passing him by. He slowed the horse to a less extreme speed, and began leading it towards the thinning of trees which led out onto the hill where Arthur had battled Kilgarrah those years ago. The horse panted, frothing at the mouth and Merlin took pity upon it. His mind was in disarray, his emotions in turmoil. He couldn't think properly, couldn't control his body any more than a drunkard might.

But, somehow, he managed to trip and crawl and stumbled his way to the top of the hill where the silvery light of evening caressed the gleaming blades of grass.

And then, he crumbled.

Merlin's legs buckled beneath him, and he fell ungracefully to his hands and knees. He sobbed, pain shooting down his back and to the ends of his fingertips, which he curled and dug into the dirt. He continued to cry though, overwhelmed and made incapable from the torrent inside of him, the tempest of grief and betrayal, terror and pain, both physical and mental. He sucked in great gasps of air before heaving out more sobs, unable to stop himself and having no desire to. He let it all come out, nine years worth of tears that had never before been acknowledged, let alone released.

Merlin's arms shook and then collapsed, his forearms scraping the grass as he rested his forehead against his fists. He wept more quietly then, able to taste his own salty tears, and feel their wet warmth on his skin.

And then, Kilgarrah came.

…

Arthur and Gwaine followed Merlin deftly through the trees, finding it difficult to keep track of his winding, random course. It was obvious he wasn't trying to direct his horse, from what little Arthur could see of him through the trunks and the last gleams of daylight.

But, they managed to follow him until he slowed down, and then trotted his horse towards a place that was painfully familiar to Arthur. It was the clearing where he had killed the Great Dragon. Why was Merlin here?

His mind filled with questions but he brushed them aside, focusing on keeping track of his servant's movements. Merlin slowly, agonizingly made his way to the top of the hill in a way that made Arthur cringe. Arthur and Gwaine followed after much more silently and with little difficulty. They stopped about twelve yards away, where the slope of the hill would hide them from view, but they could still see Merlin.

It had been Arthur's original intention to talk to him, but he could only watch with something along the lines of absolute denial as Merlin began to cry.

Arthur might have intervened, but he could only watch, feeling as if he were intruding upon something terribly private.

Merlin's silhouette shook in the last rays of the setting sun, strands of raven hair just as clearly outlined as the up and down, trembling motions of his spine, and the tensing of his shoulders. He seemed to be in pain, like the immense sorrow was fighting to escape without breaking his body.

It tore at Arthur, to hear those soft laments, to listen to those deep, pain filled sobs coming from Merlin's throat as if they were choking him. As if they were too big to slide out easily.

Merlin's arms wobbled, and lost their strength. Merlin folded into his arms, burying his face between them, and his head against his knuckles. He wept more, like a child, and Arthur felt his resolve cracking. He made to stand up, but felt Gwaine's hand on his shoulder and looked over to see a look of dead seriousness plastered on the knight's face. Merlin needs this moment, it seemed to say.

Arthur wanted to protest, and started to pull away, but was stopped.

A massive buffet of wind went through the clearing. One simple vibration emanated from the sky but shook the ground and rustled the trees around them. And then, again. And another.

If Arthur had looked up, he would have seen the dragon's dark form getting closer and closer. If he had looked up, he might have seen the enormous, magnificent wings causing the surrounding world to beat in time with their power. If Arthur had looked up, he would have been prepared for the colossal shockwave that sent him reeling backward when the creature landed, and rolling down the hill. The titanic weight against the compact soil caused it to break apart and fly upward, and Arthur shielded himself from the shower of rocks and dirt.

But, when Arthur finally did look up farther down near the base of the mound, it was only to see a gigantic, scaly claw curling around his manservant's form, enveloping him entirely, and Arthur only had one second to scream before the dragon took off once again, shaking the earth and Arthur's world with its departure,

"MERLIN!"


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Umm...hi? *peeks out from beneath giant teddy bear* Anyone still there? Okay, so I feel awful. It's taken me almost two and a half weeks to write this up for you guys, and even then,, after such a bad cliffhanger, what I give you is this pathetic little excuse for a chapter, and so I would just love to express my deepest apologies. I could list a million excuses as to why this took so long, but none of them would really make up for it, so I'm hoping that me bringing back Mordred does, if only a little.

Anyways, enjoy!

...

A breezy draft infiltrated the castle corridors, gently ruffling Leon's hair and causing the light of the torches on the wall to flicker and waver. It was an eerie night, what little light cast by the sconces along the walls only creating a dim, shadowy effect. Through the windows, the night sky was hidden by black and roiling clouds, the moon nowhere in sight, leaving the city beneath bathed in darkness.

Leon didn't turn back around to his chambers though. He continued forward, knowing what he had to do but having no idea as to how to go about it.

Arthur had been gone for several hours. Witnesses had recalled him riding out of the city with the long-haired knight, Gwaine, behind him. Leon had immediately sent out a patrol to find their king, but they hadn't returned yet with any news.

Leon would have expected to be more alarmed than he was. Yes, he felt that familiar worry in his gut that never seemed to go away when it came to his young, reckless king. Yet, he was also strangely…calm. He felt somehow, deep inside of him, an innate certainty that whatever Arthur was doing, it had a purpose. Leon may not always condone his liege's behavior, but he always trusted his instincts.

And right now, he knew he needed to speak to Gwen.

The young woman hadn't shown her face for hours, and it wasn't until that evening after all the chaos of excusing Arthur's disappearance to the council, trying to find him, and the usual knightly responsibilities Leon had to take care of, did he even give her more than a passing thought. Rumors had been circulating through the castle, slight glances and off hand remarks that Leon was utterly baffled by.

Merlin attacking Gwen? It seemed impossible, but…

Leon had to physically shake the train of thought out of his head.

_No_, he resolved to himself, hands unconsciously balling into fists at his sides, _not again_.

He had doubted Merlin once before. He was not going to repeat that mistake.

Perhaps, that had contributed to his forgetfulness about Gwen. His mind had been occupied for a long time…days, in fact.

Leon's head felt heavy. Merlin's betrayed, tear-filled eyes, Mordred's harsh, rebuking words, Gaius' accusing, knowing expression. Not only was Leon filled to burst with the events of the past days and the eye-opening things that had been said, but he was also constantly distracted by the complex emotions and contradictions running through his veins.

He felt guilt. Guilt because he had stood by and watched as Merlin was seized and tossed into the dungeon, not fighting but afflicted by some kind of terrible, silent sadness.

He felt confusion. Confusion because he had grown up learning, no, _knowing_ that his utmost loyalty belonged to his king and queen. And while, yes, he had disagreed with his monarchs more than once, he had never disobeyed. But Guinevere had questioned this. It had been some kind of metaphysical poison inside of him, tempered by years of hapless devotion and servitude, holding him back from helping Merlin. And he felt as if he were a traitor. To whom, his upbringing and his heart fought to conjure an answer.

Regret. Regret, because he knew, he knew above all else that he had made a mistake. That the moment Merlin was accused, he should have rushed to his friend's defense. Regret, because this odd, endearing young man had infiltrated Leon's armor, and made everything so much more complicated than designated priorities told him they should be.

While Gwaine and Percival had spent their time fighting for Merlin's forgiveness and friendship, Leon had been involved in an internal struggle of morality, deciding between what the rules said was right and what Merlin as a person proved in contradicting these.

Leon's footsteps echoed down the corridor as he neared Guinevere's chambers. He took a deep breath and tamped down everything churning and swirling in his head in order to think clearly.

He raised his hand to the door.

….

Mordred was not surprised that Gwen didn't notice him at first.

He was, after all, adept at being unseen. When one's existence entails certain death, one must learn not to exist.

He tiptoed after her through the dark, boots softly padding against the stone. His knees were bent low to the ground as he followed silently behind, hands twitching and busy by his sides. He watched as the billows of her velvet, purple cloak disappeared around another corner, falling into the shadow of the hardly lit spaces, and then sped up his pace.

To be perfectly honest, he wasn't exactly sure what it was he was trying to accomplish.

Of course, he knew his motivations. Unlike most in Camelot, he was able to recognize magic in its more subtle forms. In the queen's case, he was able to tell right away that something was not right.

He wasn't fully acquainted with the inner workings of the relationships in the castle. In fact, he was sometimes utterly baffled by the strange goings on in the interactions between Arthur, Guinevere, the knights, and Merlin. However, he was lucid enough to deduce that Guinevere sending Merlin to jail based on practically nothing, was not right. He also knew that Merlin attacking Guinevere, according to the servants' gossip, was most _definitely_ not right.

So, he was stalking her. Not exactly something worthy of the merit of a knight of Camelot.

He supposed that old habits of suspicion die hard, but it wasn't exactly normal for one of the head monarchs of a kingdom to be sulking towards the deep, lonesome recesses of a castle, and Mordred had a peculiar interest in the abnormal. Especially, when the unusual happenings he was interested in seemed to have a lot to do with the recent breakdown and disappearance of a warlock of legend and his golden king.

Guinevere entered a room at the top of a wooden staircase, sparing a glance for the guards beneath. She strode downward, and then grabbed a lit torch from the wall outside a dark tunnel like opening. She flourished past the oblivious guards, who were playing a game of cards at a table nearby, and passed under the arch that led to more stairs. Mordred furrowed his brow and snuck past much more carefully than the queen, speculating privately that she might be carrying some kind of glamour, one that he was immune to, due to his magical abilities, or sharpened intelligence.

He thought he had an idea of where Guinevere might be going. He was not unfamiliar of Camelot's lore and history. He knew that there was, or, rather, had been, a dragon hidden underneath the castle, but wasn't aware of the exact location.

He glanced around him, taking in his surroundings and realizing that they did nothing but confirm what he was theorizing.

Guinevere was descending hurriedly down the winding stone staircase. The air was dank and chill, and smelt of something vile, not unlike the hot and rancid odor of decaying feces. Mordred resisted the urge to plug his nose, knowing it would not help to staunch the smell of many-years imprisoned dragon. He could only hope it wouldn't be in his clothes later.

There were no torches along the walls, Uther obviously having not believed that anyone would be venturing down here of their own accord. What little could be seen were the unattended cracks and fissures of ancient, stone walls and steps, clogged with grime, and, possibly, ridden with disease-carrying rodents. The farther down they went into the earth, the more organic and rough-hewn the shapes of the rock.

Mordred cursed Guinevere's short, womanly legs and the dainty feet attached.

It seemed a very long time, indeed, before the staircase straightened out, and an opening could be seen at the bottom. Guinevere reached it and swept through, not halting to duck under the top of the arch, unlike Mordred, who was too tall.

He couldn't help but gape for a few moments when he entered the prison.

It was a massive cavern, mineral, jagged cliffs decorating the massive walls, which glistened with moisture in the blackness and rose up into a layer of mist, obscuring what Mordred knew was a ridiculously high ceiling.

His gaze travelled downward, landing on what seemed to be the large, ominous silhouette of a humongous chain. He shivered at the thoughts the image brought. A dragon, trapped alone in its ferocity and righteous anger for years, knowing it was the last of its kind, and knowing that the world had decided it was evil incarnate.

His mind flitted to Merlin for a moment, imagining him imprisoned, believing that his friends thought him a traitor, and murderer.

Really, being magic didn't exactly guarantee a lot of luck in this world.

Wrenching himself back into the present, Mordred glared down into the darkness where Guinevere had descended down a rough pathway of stone steps, still unaware of his presence.

He followed after, watching closely and wondering what exactly she was doing here.

He was answered sooner than he would have lucked.

He almost cursed at the sight of another figure coming into view, stepping out from behind a pillar of rock into the faint glimmer of Guinevere's torch. Mordred dove behind a boulder, pressing into the shadow and praying no one thought to look too closely past the shroud.

"Milady…" Guinevere's voice began, startling Mordred with the uncertainty in her voice.

"You have disappointed me, Gwen,"

Mordred's eyes shot wide open, his pulse began to race.

Morgana.

"I-I didn't know that…"

"Arthur suspects you," Morgana interrupted. Gwen stuttered frantically, but Morgana cut her off with cold efficiency,

"Arthur's greatest weakness is his trust. If he ceases to do so, he becomes dangerous. Your job was to maintain Arthur's loyalties towards you, and, instead, he has abandoned the kingdom to go chasing after a manservant. Merlin was supposed to be disposed of, by now. What happened?"

"I…I don't know. The dagger pierced him, I'm sure of it!"

"And yet, he is still alive. And not only is he alive, but lucid and _suspicious_, and _not_ a shriveled, empty shell of a man, as was my minimum expectation."

Mordred felt a flare of anger in his gut. He knew that Morgana wasn't who she had been all those years ago, the kind and selfless woman who had saved him from death.

But, he hadn't been aware as to the exact extent of her evil. Until now.

Carefully, he peeked around the slope of the boulder, his eyes alighting upon the cloaked and hazy figures of the two women. Morgana sighed, and Mordred saw her reach up to her face, which was hidden in the darkness of her hood,

"I am not angry with you, Guinevere. But I have invested much in these plans, and I want you to know how much your carelessness impacts them. I have already suffered much in this life, Gwen. And I need to know I can count on you. Do you understand?"

Gwen's voice was frantic and apologetic, dripping with admiration and sycophancy,

"Yes! Yes, of course you can trust me. I'm so sorry, Morgana."

Morgana slowly raised a hand to stop the rambling, and then spoke softly, this time, her voice low and conspiratorial, containing a hint of malice, the kind of voice that sent chills up and down Mordred's arms,

"Consider it in the past. All that is left to do is find opportunity in misfortune."

Mordre's ears pricked up, and he strained to hear the next words, practically whispered but no less pregnant,

"Camelot is without her king. And the king is without his secret protector. We attack at dawn."

...

A/N: Okay, so tell me what you thought! Another cliffhanger, I know. I'm a terrible person, and I wish there were a better way to end this chapter, but, honestly, I just loved this so much. Total classic "villain attacks at dawn" thing. Anyhow, did you guys like Mordred? I actually had a lot of fun writing him, especially with his rather sarcastic personality, I like making him my own character. XD Drop a review if you like! I really need something to reboot my inspiration for this story. :/ One more thing, would you guys like this to be a reveal story? To be honest, I'm not entirely sure that that would fit so well. I kind of want Arthur and the knights to make it up to Merlin based on them having a revelation on their relationships with him, without bringing in his magic. It just seems more meaningful, somehow. X)

Have a nice day!

...

RECOMMENDATION! **If any of you guys like BBC's Sherlock, I recommend checking out System Restart by Radon65. Epic one-shot, extremely well-written with John angsting over Sherlock. It's awesome! :D Read it!**


	9. Chapter 9

The fury in Merlin's gut had burned down to a frustrated simmer. It seemed to vibrate in him, down his legs and up his neck and the space in between, stuck in the hot and scaly padding of Kilgarrah's claw. The wind buffeted his face, and he strained against the force in an effort to keep his neck from snapping back and forth as it had done at first, causing a continuous soreness to crawl up from his spine and up the back of his neck, accumulating into a massive and throbbing headache at the base of his skull.

He didn't know how long he'd been flying. It had seemed an endless expanse of time he spent screaming at Kilgarrah in frustration, struggling to escape the grip around his torso. But above the roar of the wind and the thrumming of the dragon's massive wings scooping through the air, his voice was lost as a minor wisp of wasted breath. Kilgarrah refused to acknowledge him, even when he spoke in dragon tongue, and Merlin's anger grew. He glared upward at the visible line of Kilgarrah's massive jaw.

The blackness inside of him was liberating, climbing up his throat and dotting the edges of his vision, it roiled in his stomach, an unsettled sea of pent up emotions. The tears had long ago dried on his face, but the disconcertment of his mind was still present. He fought through a manic haze of seething sorrow, underlined with the finite presence of reason, a trickle of logic in a rushing river of dissent.

Merlin shut his eyes to fight down the nausea as Kilgarrah took a sudden dive, causing everything to plummet upward. His wings expanded with a mighty snap, and the wind died down abruptly as he coasted to the ground. The earth shook, and Merlin's teeth rattled as the dragon made contact with the earth. He raised Merlin forward and gently dropped him onto the ground. The world tilted as Merlin fell, and when he scrambled to his feet, it blackened for a moment as all the blood rushed to his head. He stumbled and almost fell again, if it weren't for Kilgarrah's aiding claw.

Merlin pushed it away though, and fell to his hands and knees before standing again, fuming in outrage,

"What the hell was that?!" he screamed. Kilgarrah looked down at him coolly, though his face was blurring in and out of Merlin's vision. He knew he was swaying, but struggled to stay on his feet, feeling as though the world were teetering back and forth beneath him.

"Be at peace, young warlock." Kilgarrah said, "It is my duty as your dragon to protect you. You are in danger, and not in your head." Merlin faltered backward but managed to regain his footing, all the while the blackness inside of him brewing just under the surface, continually clouding his vision and his senses more and more,

"What are you trying to do?" he demanded. Kilgarrah took a deep breath and shifted his gargantuan weight, and the trees and earth seemed to shudder,

"The Black Witch has invaded you with dark magic," the golden orbs of his eyes narrowed, seeming to intensify their piercing light, "The infection must be purged. And I will purge it."

It must have been that small part of Merlin. That stubborn, little light that kept him still, that was still helping him to recognize through a vale of corruption what was right for him.

That must have been what kept Merlin still.

Kilgarrah's jaw's opened wide, displaying a terrifying conglomeration of sharpened, massive teeth. Orange light and smoke tendrils built upward from the back of his fathomless throat.

Merlin just had time to close his eyes before the fire engulfed him.

…..

Gwaine kept his head tucked down as they rode through the trees.

Branches, vines, and coarse leaves whipped his face, but he didn't care. There was only one thing on his mind, and it wasn't even a thought, not really. It was an emotion. One of such magnitude that if it weren't for its origin, might have caused him to black out.

It was terror.

He would have to lie to say that he hadn't lost all semblance of human control when Merlin was taken by the dragon right in front of him. He didn't even remember getting on his horse, or Arthur, for that matter. His throat hurt, though, so he knew he must have been screaming. He still would be, if it weren't for that fact.

The dragon was out of sight now, hidden by the trees. It was all Gwaine could do not to imagine Merlin in its claws. It was all he could do not to imagine how terrified he must be, if he was in pain…

He still remembered him crying.

Overcome by a surge of fury, Gwaine tried to urge his horse to go faster, but it was at its limit. He could hear Arthur's horse running beside him, the sound of the sets of hooves pounding the dirt deafening, alongside the horses' ragged panting.

And then the earth shook with a deafening roar, an earthquake of molten power reverberating through their skulls Gwaine's fear subsequently grew and tightened as his heart began to race. Arthur turned to Gwaine, and Gwaine realized he was returning the fearful gaze.

"Merlin," Arthur's lips read as the blood drained from his face.

Oh, God. Merlin.

They simultaneously screamed at the horses to run faster, the roar dying down in the distance like fading thunder.

Than, it happened.

Arthur didn't scream when he fell. The horse did though, shrieking in pain as its foot caught on something, or its leg buckled from exhaustion, and tumbled forward toward the dirt. Gwaine yanked at the reigns and cried out as Arthur disappeared from his sight. The horse whinnied in protest as it dug into the ground and managed to grind to a stop.

Gwaine flew from his mount and ran back to his king, voice catching in his throat at the sight of the muddied blonde head lying next to his squirming, pained animal. He slid to the ground next to Arthur, who was grunting in pain and struggling to sit up. He threw his arm around his shoulders and began to lift him up, but the king yelped in pain and they both sunk back to the forest floor.

Arthur turned to Gwaine, his face red and twisted in pain and, yet, an unrelenting stubbornness shining through his wild eyes,

"Go," he said, and Gwaine froze, "Get Merlin. Get to him, go now." Gwaine began to rise, reluctantly, reaching out a hand, "Go!" Arthur cried thrusting a finger outward. Gwaine bounced on the balls of his feet, than growled angrily,

"I'm coming back for you," he insisted, than ran for his horse. He vaulted onto the saddle and yelled, "Hyah!" as he pushed the horse to run, to fly.

He would not allow his friends to die today. Not today.

...

A/N: Hey, guys! I apologize for the looong waits between chapters, and for the shortness of this one, but my inspiration has run dry, and, at this point, I am finishing this partly for closure, but mostly for you guys. :) You've been such great supporters, I would like to finish this story for you with a good ending. I never really was inspired by this story, though I have enjoyed writing it so far. With all the support from the first chapter, I thought it would be a good opportunity to attach a plotline that had been stirring in my head for some time, but was grossly inadequately developed. Anyways, as soon as this is done, I'm going to be uploading a new story I've been working on that I'm SUPER excited about. So, I hope you will continue to be patient with me, I will try and wrap this up and meet your guys' expectations as soon as I can. :D Love ya all!


	10. Chapter 10

Mordred stood impassively, arms crossed as he watched the knights file into the armory.

Leon and Percival seemed to be trying to maintain some form of interest, while Elyan just looked annoyed.

The last light of dusk filtered in through the one window, creating a shadowy, dusty aura around the room. Mordred knew his own face was partially concealed by darkness, and he was glad of it.

He was about to commit high treason, after all. And he'd rather his comrades couldn't see the trepidation written plainly across his face.

There was always the chance they wouldn't believe him, of course. They'd known Gwen for years and years, and one of them was her bloody _brother_. Mordred had earned their respect as a knight, but he knew that he had yet to completely gain their trust, as a friend.

They had an aura of wariness about them as they sat down, as if they were expecting another lecture. It wasn't fear, exactly.

But close enough, Mordred thought with a small smirk.

An awkward silence stretched on as Mordred stared at them, and they returned his gaze, obviously waiting. The young druid fought not to chew his lip as he contemplated how exactly to address the…_issue _at hand.

He rubbed his eyes with a sigh. This was going to be harder than he'd thought. He was basically telling all these men that their beloved sovereign was actually a puppet for a wicked sorceress that was their king's sister, whom they had all hoped, and begun to believe, was dead. Mordred hated to be the bearer of bad news.

But he especially hated bearing the news to men whom he had begun to consider his friends. Not to mention, men that were perfectly capable of beating him to a pulp without hardly breaking a sweat.

"Oh, for the love of-!" Elyan began to grumble exasperatedly, when Leon cut in,

"Mordred. You have summoned us here for a reason, correct?"

Mordred nodded, still pinching the bridge of his nose against an oncoming headache.

"Yes," he reassured, looking up and taking a deep, cleansing breath, before giving the men in front of him a long, earnest look.

"I'm going to be frank," he started, and than said in one, uniformly rushed breath, "Guinevere is working for Morgana, and is probably under some kind of spell."

There were a few seconds of complete and absolute silence, where the knights sat slack-jawed with unreadable expressions. Mordred tensed for the blows.

He jumped when Percival suddenly slammed his fist against the barrel next to him and barked out,

"I knew it!"

…

Leon's thoughts moved so quickly during the silence that it seemed like an eternity.

Somehow, what Mordred said made sense. And every fiber of Leon's being rebelled against the idea because…well, because the Gwen he knew couldn't be a traitor.

And Leon would have noticed before, wouldn't he?

His mind flitted back to earlier that evening, when he had approached Guinevere's chambers in what had been his own attempt at gaining some answers. She had never come to the door, though. Could it possibly have been because she was otherwise occupied…betraying the kingdom? He had been struggling with his view on recent events beforehand. And then Arthur had gone missing, and Merlin and Gwaine.

Leon was so lost in the whirlwind of his mind that Percival's outburst was barely enough to pull him out of it,

"I knew it!"

Leon couldn't help but stare at him, aghast. Percival blushed and then brought his fist into his other hand, and folded the both of them in his lap,

"Sorry, it's just…she was acting so strange. And then, Merlin…it seemed like something might be wrong."

"Then why didn't you say anything?" Mordred's voice was like ice, echoing what shone from his pale, unnerving eyes.

Percival bristled a bit at his tone, or rather, lack thereof.

"I was afraid, that's why. Arthur would have my head for questioning Gwen's loyalties," Leon opened his mouth to protest against that, but no sound came out. Percival had a point. Arthur had been very sensitive about the trust he placed in people after Agravaine, and didn't often like his ties being put in a skeptical light.

"Besides," Percival continued, his brow taking on a thoughtful air, "I wanted more time to observe, to see if there was anything that needed to be done, or if there was anything wrong at all."

"Wait, wait, wait," Elyan broke in, waving his hands emphatically, "Why are we even considering this?" His eyes flared with anger and the indignation of an older brother, and he stood and jabbed a finger in Mordred's direction, who did nothing in response,

"We can't trust _him_. Gwen would never betray us!"

Mordred looked offended at that, and opened his mouth as if to say anything, but Leon intervened,

"He has a point, Mordred," he said coolly, "These are some serious accusations you are making. Do you have any evidence to back them up?"

Mordred unfolded his arms in what Leon realized was a casual effort not to look defensive,

"Well, first of all, I didn't _accuse _anyone of anything," he explained calmly with a pointed glance in Elyan's direction. The young knight was still visibly trying to contain his fury, "Except, Morgana for being a manipulative bitch, which I'm sure none of you would argue with."

None of them did.

"But still," Leon continued, trying to establish some semblance of order before giving into his own, personal suspicions, "What evidence? Do you have proof?"

Mordred hesitated for just a moment, but then spoke up with a grim confidence,

"I saw them…in the catacombs. Gwen was obviously under some kind of spell."

"What did they say?" Elyan asked skeptically, seeming to relax only slightly at hearing Mordred say his sister was not willing in her involvement.

Mordred gave him a brief glance, then leaned back on his heels, so that the shadow obscured his face and figure just a little more,

"They've been trying to kill Merlin," Leon felt his jaw drop, "And they are attacking the kingdom tomorrow."

And then his heart followed suit.

...

A/N: Okay, so that was the next miny chapter. Still squeezing these out like a malfunctioning meat grinder! I've decided that writing Mordred is a ton of fun. Hmm, maybe I should base a story with him as one of the main characters...? :/ Don't know. Do you guys like him the way I'm writing him?


	11. Chapter 11

Gwaine grit his teeth against the lashing pain from the branches and vines. His heart pounded with determination, and his jaw clenched, obstinate against failure.

Evening was settling upon the forest, but he hardly noticed. He ignored the darkening sky, the sounds of crickets and the ominous silence of nighttime beginning to permeate the air. Something about the end of the light and day seemed to signal something eerie and morbid in Gwaine's mind.

And that was the last thing he wanted to be dwelling upon, lest it became real.

He didn't even know if he was riding in the right direction. In front of him was blind hope, and behind him was the risk of sorrow. Either way he went, he knew it wouldn't be easy.

But there was no way he was leaving Merlin without a damn good fight. He owed him that much. He owed him his life. Gwaine locked his jaw so tight that the veins on his neck bulged.

He should have been willing to give it when Merlin need him the most. Now all he could do was make sure his friend lived. He didn't care if Merlin hated him, he didn't care if he didn't want to be friends anymore. He just didn't _care_.

Please, God, just let him live. Let him live, and that'll be it. I won't ask for anything more.

As he continued to race through the woods, a low, rumbling sound had been growing in volume, getting closer, louder. It rattled his chest and his teeth, and as he realized what it was, his blood turned to ice.

It was the sound of fire. Fire burning, and a bloody roar.

And as he battled through a cyclone of tempting, hopeless thoughts, Gwaine began to notice a thinning in the trees, the glimpse of an opening in the distance. Before he knew it, his horse broke through the wall of foliage, and he was inside a clearing.

It was a low, depressive valley, stretching out in all directions for about a hundred yards each. The red and orange hues of sunset bathed the long grass in their colors, and cast long shadows from the surrounding trees, creating a ghostly effect.

But Gwaine hardly absorbed any of this. His eyes lay wide and astonished, his mouth hung open wide, his hands clenched the rains of his horse, who stomped and whinnied restlessly, dancing from side to side. Gwaine didn't have the capacity to try and steady him. He couldn't move, couldn't even breathe. He couldn't look away.

An inferno of blue and orange swirled from a dragon's, a bloody_ dragon_'_s_ open jaw. Its teeth glinted from the molten montage of heat cascading from its immense, gaping maw. Its eyes were huge and frightening, shining with the light of an intense power. Its body was a coiled, reptilian masterpiece of sinuous muscle and impenetrable armor. Its huge claws ripped into the earth as the force of its blast pushed against its massive body. The light of the setting sun set its scales aglow, as if from a vibrant web of interlacing streams of liquid flame, bulging veins just beneath the surface of its skin.

But that was not what caused Gwaine's chest to constrict with a sudden terror. It was not what caused a sudden, asphyxiating pain to stab at his heart. It wasn't what caused the feral scream to rip from the back of his throat as his eyes blazed with interminable fury.

But it was the shadowy, blurred silhouette of a kneeling figure amidst the torrent of fire. The trembling waves of heat causing that figure to look as if it might blow away with the wind.

"MERLIN!"

And then the fire stopped. The dragon straightened, its powerful form seeming to shake the air around it as it moved. Its long, sinewy neck stretched in Gwaine's direction. Gwaine swore that their eyes met for a split second, and his heart which had been pounding like an anvil against his hot ribcage, stopped.

And then it flew away, shaking the world with its departure.

Silence. And then Gwaine found his breath again. His eyes flickered back to life, and panicked gasps assaulted him as he flew from his horse, eyes reasserting themselves on the figure in the middle of the field.

"Merlin, no!" he cried, "Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh God, Oh God, Oh God…" he babbled through a veil of suppressed tears as he stumbled up to the placid form.

But his pace slowed, his heart clenched with disbelief as it became clearer, and clearer. Merlin was hunched over on his hands and knees, and Gwaine saw that he was trembling. Unmarred flesh stood out against the remarkably, only slightly charred remnants of his clothes. His hair stuck out at odd angles, and his shoulders were lined with tension.

Gwaine couldn't breathe, flapping his mouth open and closed as his hands lay stiff and cold at his sides. How…?

Gwaine forcibly shook his head, and ran forward.

He skidded to a halt by Merlin's side, and reached a ginger hand towards the unresponsive man's shoulder, gingerly afraid of causing him pain. But there were no visible burns on his skin.

At his touch, though, Merlin immediately flinched backward. Gwaine dodged away, quickly raising his hands up in a surrendering position. Merlin scrambled away from him, eyes wide with fear as he crawled through the tangled grass on the backs of his elbows. His tattered clothing caught on the blades, ripping as he struggled. There was a frantic light in his eyes. Gwaine winced involuntarily at the sight of soot and tears on his pale, drawn cheeks, tracking in smudged streaks down to his trembling, chapped lip.

It was so strange. He showed the signs of having been exposed to heat. His skin was flushed and irritated, the ends of his hair and eyebrows was singed, and Gwaine thought he even saw a trail of smoke curling upward from a strand at the top of his head. But there were no burns on his arms. He was, for all intents and purposes, completely unscathed.

Gwaine swallowed, and stepped forward, as an approaching an injured boar.

The effect was stunning.

Merlin immediately bristled, and his lips curled upward in suspicion. His eyes flashed with an angry light, and Gwaine hesitated, pulling back suddenly, feeling as if Merlin's gaze had stabbed straight through him.

"Why did you follow me?" Merlin hissed fiercely, spittle flying from his clenched teeth. He wobbled to his feet, knees shaking as he swayed.

Gwaine fought to break through the catch in his throat, to form words through numb lips,

"Merlin, are you alright?" he squawked, reaching forward. But Merlin clumsily slapped his hand away. Gwaine pulled it to his chest, squeezing his symbolically stinging fingers.

Gwaine stared into the white hot fury of Merlin's thinned pupils, and the boy snarled cruelly,

"Why are you here?"

"I'm trying to help…"

"Help?" Merlin barked out an incredulous laugh, stumbling back another step, "You want to help? Since when have you ever cared about anyone but yourself, you drunken bastard!"

Gwaine bristled, a frown creasing his face as irritation welled up inside of him,

"Merlin-"

"You won't help. You'll run back to Arthur, or Gwen, and tell them all about this, won't you? You don't want to help me! You're a selfish, diluted son of a damned bitch. And you'll always go back slinking back to your alcohol and your gluttony."

Merlin had tears in his eyes, but Gwaine didn't see them. He saw past them, into the black anger, and past that into the despair, and hurt, and betrayal.

His mouth fell open almost imperceptibly, his eyes dilated in realization, and Merlin's taunts fell into a muffled, distorted background in the back of his head, an incoherent buzz. And something inside of him uncoiled, and his heart hitched, his throat closed up, and he fought to swallow.

Finally, he understood. Because when he looked, really looked, it wasn't about him anymore. His desire to win back Merlin's friendship disappeared, the guilt disappeared, the loneliness disappeared. Every selfish, motivating emotion that had been driving him before dissipated, for he suddenly realized that it was never about him. That when he had tried to make up with Merlin before, it had only been because he wanted to fix things, wanted things to go back the way they were before. He had wanted nothing more than for Merlin to smile and tell him that it was okay. Gwaine had wanted everything to be. The. Same.

He had never realized that Merlin didn't need an apology.

Merlin just needed someone to forget. To do what he had always done. To forget about himself.

And for that moment, Gwaine forgot. With a sharp rend of agony in his gut, he discarded every thought for himself, and quit caring. Now, he didn't care what it did to his and Merlin's friendship. He didn't care if things were never the same again.

It was about time Merlin knew that someone cared about him as much as he cared about everyone else. Merlin had given everything at the cost of his own happiness. He had never combined his loyalties with his dignity. He had never sacrificed the well-being of his friends to allow room for pride. He'd never jeopardized his capacity for love to leave space to defend against manipulation. He'd left every part of himself out on the plain of his far-reaching kindness, leaving the rest of him vulnerable to destruction.

Gwaine swore, then and there, he would never be the cause of that destruction again. Whether Merlin accepted him or not, Gwaine would rebuild his friend, because the world would not do without him.

It would just not do.

Gwaine's silence had seemed to indicate something to the young man. Merlin had turned around, and began to stalk away.

But Gwaine would have none of it. He lunged forward, and grasped the man's shoulder tightly. Merlin immediately tensed as Gwaine spun him around to face him.

He watched as Merlin's eyes went wide in disbelief, his jaw falling slack as if about to say something.

But it was too late. Gwaine raised his palm, drew it back, and slapped his friend across his singed and sooty cheek.

Merlin recoiled from the blow, pressing his hand against his cheek, and turning to Gwaine with hurt and shock in his eyes, but Gwaine forced his own features to remain stoic, and stern.

"Gwai-" Merlin stammered, but the knight cut him off, his voice like hardened steel,

"No! You listen to me, now, Merlin," Merlin's mouth shut with an audible click, though his hand remained on his cheek, "I'm sick and tired of this victim game. You, me, going back and forth and getting nowhere. I'm sick of you running away from me, and I'm tired of chasing. I get that I hurt you. I get that, and I'm sorry," his voice became earnest as he took a formidable step towards the young man, who was watching him with wide and unwavering eyes, "I'm really, truly sorry. I know I never deserved your friendship, and that this…this basically blew any chance I had of ever earning it. I ruined everything, and I don't expect you to give me another chance. Not anymore," he ducked his head, and took a deep, steadying breath. When he looked back up, he knew his eyes emanated a fierce, unyielding determination, and Merlin seemed to stumble slightly at the sight of it, "But I'll be _damned_ if I just sit here and watch as you tear yourself to pieces. Hate me if you want, Merlin. Hell, I deserve it. But I won't accept your defeat," his eyes narrowed, and he struggled to convey everything in that one look. He stared into Merlin's blue, shining eyes, no longer hiding anything, "You mean too much to me, for that."

He grabbed Merlin by both his arms and pierced his gaze into the young man, praying to whatever gods may be that for that moment, for that one moment, Merlin would know that he wasn't alone.

"I'm not going anywhere, Merlin," he shook his head, and a slight, breathless laugh escaped through his lips, "And I'm not asking your permission."

His words were simple, vague. But somehow, and Gwaine felt his insides crumble slightly at the sight, Merlin seemed to understand. And for once, he seemed to know that Gwaine did too.

Gwaine literally witnessed Merlin's resolve crumble. The obstinancy, the anger, the lingering blackness that seemed to trickle in faint veins around the edges of his pupils began to disappear. Gwaine grinned at him, a loving, open grin that he fought to convey all his remorse, hope, and affection in. Merlin's lip began to quiver.

Gwaine grunted in surprise as Merlin's legs folded beneath him. He caught him, and they both crumpled to the ground, one weeping hard in the other's slightly shaking, but tightly gripping arms. Merlin clutched at Gwaine's shirt, sobbing guttural, unashamed sobs into his jerkin, and Gwaine held him. Time passed as Merlin expelled what Gwaine somehow sensed must have been years' worth of pent up, disregarded emotions. He rubbed his hand up and down the young man's back, making soothing, hushing noises, knowing in a rested, patient way that this was exactly what needed to happen. Merlin had been holding himself together for so long, eventually he just didn't have the strength to keep the pieces from falling apart.

Hopefully, he would allow Gwaine to help him pick them back up, and put them back together again.

He hardly noticed when it began to rain.

...

We're getting closer to the end, now. :) Sorry if this didn't live up to anyone's expectations, though, it's not as if everything is fixed between Gwaine and Merlin. A couple more chapters to wrap up the story, and I'll leave the rest up to your guys' imagination. ;) Hope you liked it!


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: This next chapter contains some scary and violent images. Ye be warned.

...

Merlin didn't realize his legs had folded beneath him until his knees hit the dirt. Gwaine's strong arms enveloped him, and only then did Merlin also realize that he was shaking, that cool tears were running down his cheeks, creating tracks in the ash.

His thoughts were slippery, glazed over by the heavy emotions roiling through him. Guilt, relief, joy, confusion. The darkness was reluctantly receding; it felt as if it were leaking through his pores and into the earth. His mind suddenly recalled the piercing agony that had burned into his bones when Kilgarrah essentially killed the curse Morgana put on him. And he shivered.

Gwaine's hold on him tightened, and the instinct to recoil at once both flared up inside his gut, and then dissipated right after. The anger and betrayal still sizzled under his skin, but was slowly dying down. He felt the hollow cavity in his chest rapidly filling with his sorely missed magic.

When Gwaine had shown up, it had all been blurry. Merlin remembered that Kilgarrah's "purge" had quintessentially drawn the black magic from every part of him, _dragged_ it to one centralized position.

And then Kilgarrah had burned it.

But the action of bringing it to the forefront of Merlin's awareness had drained the strength from his muscles, confused and jumbled his thoughts so that when Gwaine appeared, his emotions won over his logic.

The things he'd said presently left a lingering bad taste in his mouth, but he could only acutely remember some of them. In fact, he could hardly recall exactly what it was Gwaine had told him afterwards. But he knew that wasn't what had brought him to this…acceptance, he felt now.

In truth, the only thing that filled his mind with sharp, defining clarity was the image of Gwaine's eyes, boring into his. Gwaine's words had washed over him like a warm wave, comforting, yet ineffective. What had really hit him, were those eyes. In them, Merlin had read a number of things. In his wobbly, struggling state, in Gwaine's eyes, he had seen guilt, earnestness, honesty…

But most of all, what had pierced into his very soul, and finally…_broken_ him…was truth. Gwaine, in one instantaneous fraction of a moment in time, had shown Merlin that he was there, that even if he didn't understand, even if he made mistakes and always would, what he felt about his friend was _real_. He had shown Merlin that he cared more about him than he did for himself.

And the moment Merlin recognized that, something inside of him uncoiled. A knot that had been keeping him standing, obstinate to remain in his solitude, had unraveled. He'd realized that he'd been kidding himself.

He would always feel love for a world of people that could never understand. Would never understand how much it hurt. It was just who he was. That would never change.

He knew now that he had been wrong. He'd never been alone. He'd just been looking too far ahead to realize that it was the people who were blind who'd been pushing him forward all along.

And now here he was, trembling, weeping, displaying vulnerability, being cradled in the arms of a friend who would never understand. And suddenly he knew, that was okay.

He buried his face in Gwaine's shirt, and simply cried.

"I know, mate," Gwaine said, "I know."

But Gwaine would never. But, the fact that he would be there anyway? For Merlin, that was enough.

….

Arthur glared upward at the, now, dark sky, hissing in pain through clenched teeth. Sweat drenched him from head to toe, despite the chill breeze causing the trees to creak and bend eerily in the soft glow of the moon, half-shrouded in wispy tendrils of violet clouds.

For the countless time that night, he glanced over his shoulder and squinted into the gloom of the forest, searching madly for any sign of his returning knight and, hopefully, manservant. Because he had to believe that Merlin was with him, that he would come back unscathed and without that deep look of betrayal in his eyes.

His stomach churned in time with his whirling thoughts, running over the day's events over and over. He remembered Gwen's suspicious behavior, Merlin's earnest eyes, the display of miraculous strength as his manservant successfully threw back at least four or five of Camelot's specially trained guardsman like they weighed no more than gangly children.

Once again, he could find no definite solution of compromise to help him make sense of _anything_. Arthur threw back his head and groaned in frustration at the throbbing ache in his head and in his leg and in his gut as he waited for something to happen that would finally clear things up for him for once in his life.

He sighed and closed his eyes, suppressing a shiver as cold breeze wafted through the trees and snaked up his shirt. His brow furrowed. Something felt…

His eyes snapped open in alarm, and he quickly unsheathed his sword with a loud "shing" which seemed to reverberate through the ominous silence.

"Who's there?" he called into the night. At first, there was no answer, only a dead silence which felt as if it were seeping into Arthur's very bones. And then,

"Dear brother, you're still as hard to sneak up on as you were when we were children," a sweet, silky voice reached Arthur's ears, and his eyes widened in astonishment, his sword unconsciously slipping down a few inches,

"Morgana?" he croaked in disbelief, hating the small quaver in his voice.

"As stunningly observant as ever, Arthur,"

A lithe figure suddenly shimmered into existence, slinking from the shadows of the forest like some kind of panther. Arthur swallowed past a lump of dread that formed at the sight.

Morgana walked with an undeniable grace, and she seemed to radiate a lethal power as she glided into the small clearing, her long skirt silently brushing the ground's foliage. Her pale skin shone with a ghostly light in the dark visage of the woods. One hand hung casually at her side, the other was wrapped around the handle of a thin, elegant blade.

A smirk quirked her blood red lips, but her eyes shone with a cold, utter hatred that seemed to cause what little light there was in the vicinity to cower into the shadows.

Arthur's heart began to pound, and he tried to stand, but a wave of nausea and pain passed over him and he immediately fell back down. He suddenly grasped with a sinking feeling that he was in deep, deep trouble.

Recovering from the dizziness, he set his face into a stony mask, and glared at his sister with what he hoped was a scathing contempt.

Morgana seemed amused at the expression, and cocked her head to the side with a cluck of disapproval,

"Oh, don't be that way, brother. You've only brought this on yourself, after all."

"How did you find me here?" Arthur demanded, though a pit of realization was rapidly forming in his stomach. An image of Gwen's vacant expression passed through his mind, and the pit grew. Morgana's smirk grew, and the sinister light in her eyes intensified. She took a step closer, her grip on the blade tightening to infinitesimally that Arthur almost thought he had imagined it,

"It wasn't all that hard, really." she paused, "After all, it only seems fit that the queen of Camelot would be the first one informed when you left the castle."

Arthur couldn't breathe. Morgana's smile turned into a wicked grin of delight,

"Oh, you didn't realize? Shame. I would have thought that with such an _undying love_ for your wife, you would have noticed the change right away," she sighed dramatically and closed her eyes piteously, "Though, I suppose I must allow you some grace. The spell _did _replicate and retain her personality, so I must allow for simple human error," her eyes met Arthur's, sparkling with glee, "You never were the most perceptive boy."

Arthur couldn't speak, he couldn't even think. His heart raced, his pulse drummed in his ears. Rage simmered in his chest, humiliation, terror.

"Though, I did, however, expect _some _sort of suspicion. Gwen is, I mean, essentially gone, in the grand scheme of things. I was rather hoping that you would have noticed, if not in a way to interfere with my plans, of course."

She took another step forward. Arthur raised his sword threateningly, trying and failing to push himself away, but Morgana's eyes merely flashed gold and the weapon was wrenched from his hands and sent flying into the trees. He stared after it, but when he looked back, Morgana's face had taken on a mad glee, a frightening snarl tugged at the corner of her mouth,

"Do you have _any idea_ how much she hates you? It's so…beautiful," she laughed breathlessly, and for the first time, Arthur recognized how insane his sister had become. It was a cold, methodical insanity. Terrifying.

"She tells me everything, you know," Morgana continued, "She tells me how disgusting she feels when you touch her. She tells me how every caress burns her skin, how every whispered, tender word of love causes bile to rise in her throat. She can't stand the way you look at her, the way you speak, your habits, your ticks, your expressions. Like poison, she says. Everything you do only increases her loathing," Morgana's eyes were wild and wide, her mouth open in a shining, knife-like smile, "She. _Hates_. You."

Arthur felt as if he'd been beaten, the wind knocked out of him. Though, fury continued to pulse in his veins like fire. Suddenly, Morgana straightened, once again immaculately calm and calculating. She twirled the sword in front of her, and ponderously ran her fingers along the edge of the blade,

"So, to answer your question, I know where you are at all times of the day. It was simply a matter of…opportunity," she reasserted her gaze on Arthur, "As soon as I realized that Mordred, "she spat the name like it was venom in her mouth, "was listening in on my conversation, I planted the information. Meanwhile, while he prepares for a battle, I'm here," she spread her arms, indicating their position, "Finishing what I should have a long time ago."

Almost instantly, the smile on her face disappeared, and took on a murderous light. Her arms dropped to her sides, and she raised the tip of the sword slightly. She strode forward.

And disappeared from Arthur's vision with a shriek of rage as she was tackled to the ground.

"Not on my watch, you evil bitch!" Gwaine's voice yelled from the ground as he wrestled with the sorceress.

"Gwaine!" Arthur cried. Morgana screamed in outrage, and suddenly Gwaine was sent flying back several yards.

He hit the ground hard, but appeared only dazed, blinking up at the sky dimly. Which, Arthur saw, was the least of their problems.

Morgana rose slowly to her feet, eyes ablaze with fury and golden fire as a whirlwind, a typhoon of magic began to swirl at her feet. Her hands curled into sharp claws at her sides, her hair whipped about her grotesquely hate-filled face where black patches began to spread on her pale skin. Her skirt flapped in the gale. Darkness rose in slimy tendrils about her feet, weaving about her form in a web-like pattern. A prolonged, banshee-like shriek spewed from her lips, and Arthur had to clamp his hands over his ears as fear raced up his spine.

And then, it all paused. The darkness receded, the wind died down, leaving an empty silence in the air. Morgana's eyes had widened in pain and shock, her mouth had gone slack. Arthur watched in abject fascination and horror as a pool of dark blood welled up behind her lips, and dribbled out of the corners of her mouth, trailing morbidly down her trembling chin. Hands still upraised towards the sky, she looked down, brow furrowing in confusion and what looked like disturbed curiosity at the blade protruding from her stomach, glistening with her own blood.

Arthur's eyes traced the sword to the man holding it, and his heart soared at the sight of Merlin, his free hand on one of Morgana's shoulders, his head hovering above her other, lips brushing the raven hair in an almost intimate fashion. Her pupils dilated as they flicked towards him, though she didn't move, agony holding her rigid in place, her mouth still wide open like a clay mask.

"Didn't I tell you what it would taste like?" Merlin murmured so softly, so emotionlessly, Arthur could hardly believe it had come from his manservant.

In one swift motion and with a sickening squelch, he pulled the sword out of the sorceress, and watched impassively as she brought her hand to the hole in her gut, fell agonizingly slowly to her knees, and then collapsed fully to the ground. Dead.

Arthur stared at her body for a long time, watching the breeze ruffle her hair, and knew that his knight and manservant were doing the same. He couldn't seem to wrap his mind around the fact. She was gone.

And then Merlin was by his side, and Arthur snapped back into reality.

"Merlin?" he asked faintly, watching his manservant look him over for injury as if he'd never seen him before. Merlin looked up at him, and his lips split in a grin, though it seemed pained,

"Hello, Arthur."

...

A/N: Whew! Next chapter. :D So, first of all, I apologize for the first section of this chapter. Admittedly, I'm a bit of a sap...okay, a _lot_ of a sap. But at least I'm open about it!...right? Anyways, hope you guys liked it! The next chapter should be the last, hopefully. :) Thanks so much everyone for joining me on this adventure. It's been painfully fun, but a good experience. :D And you've all just been, wow, like, amazing. Seriously. I tried to reply to all your reviews, but a few of you were guests, and a few had PM-ing disabled (you know who you are) so here's one big shout out to all of you for being absolutely fantastic and wonderfully supportive and, just, great followers! WOOOOHOOOOO! I hope the part with Morgana wasn't too creepy for you guys. :D

**News on Trapped**: For those of you following my story, Trapped, I apologize deeply for the long wait. But, rest assured, I am currently working on the next chapter, and hope you can have a bit more patience with me, for it should be up very soon. :D Love all of you, and have a great day/night or what have you!


	13. Chapter 13

The door swung silently on oily hinges as Mordred entered Guinevere's chambers. A cool breeze ruffled his hair from the open window adjacent her bed, bringing with it the faint smell of perfume and fresh linen. He peered into the room from the doorway, watching as the queen rose from her mirror to face him with startled eyes. Her silhouette was somewhat hazy in the flickering, dim glow from the few candelabras lining her walls, displaying her billowing robe and braided hair.

"My liege," he said with a small incline of his head. Not a bow. Guinevere didn't miss it. Her eyes narrowed even as she smiled brightly, dimpling her cheeks. Mordred had to firmly remind himself that this wasn't the sweet girl he had known. This was a puppet with a blackened soul. He would have to remember this if he was going to do what he needed to.

"_You won't hurt her," Elyan had asked._

"_No, I won't have to."_

"Mordred," Gwen said brightly, though Mordred saw her fingers tighten around the top of the chair, "What brings you at such a late hour?"

Mordred took a deep breath through his nose, forcing his heart into a steel trap, and his face into an icy mask. He wasn't sure when he had come to the conclusion that he needed to face the queen in a personal confrontation; probably, somewhere between realizing that they would need her orders to assemble the knights in preparation for an oncoming battle, and deciding that physically restraining her was probably not the best way of getting her to agree.

Which really only left him with one option.

He sighed as he closed the door behind him with a resounding click. He really did hate this kind of nasty business.

"I'm afraid it is an urgent matter, milady. Won't you sit down?" he gestured toward the seat at her vanity as he pulled one away from the dining table for himself. Guinevere remained standing, her frame rigid as she stared with a slight widening of her eyes at Mordred's hand grasping the rungs of the chair. Mordred watched her silently. This was a game, and they were both just pretending. She knew that he knew. Suddenly, her eyes snapped up, cold as ice, and a tight smile curled at her lips,

"Of course, just let me tell my guards that I won't be needing them."

Mordred suppressed another sigh as she walked towards the door. The jig was up at this point. No use in pretending. He deftly caught her wrist in a vice like grip as she brushed his side, and he felt her stiffen,

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he murmured in her ear. He felt it when her demeanor changed, and she flicked the brown orbs of her eyes, without moving a muscle, to meet his own, chilling stare,

"And what…could you possibly do to stop me?" she replied in a thin whisper, a menacing undertone to her words that was so unlike Gwen, it sent a chill down Mordred's spine.

"Nothing," Mordred supplied coolly, "But I wouldn't be expecting too much help from your guards," he snuck in a subtle implication in his words, so that Gwen's eyes grew slightly bigger in what may have been the beginnings of unease, even fear. What did you do to them? They said.

Nothing, actually. What he'd done is slapped the guards' backs and hurrahed them in the direction of the tavern. Percival and Leon now stood where they had outside the door.

But Guinevere didn't need to know that. She wasn't expecting Mordred to have the kind of stomach for darkness that she had. Let her feel unbalanced. Mordred wanted her to believe they were on equal ground.

"Please," he said cordially, hand squeezing her wrist a little harder, "Sit."

Slowly, slowly, she nodded, and he released her. She glided towards the chair and demurely lowered herself into it, maintaining a coy, curious expression to belie the line of tension in her shoulders. Mordred sat across from her, and rested his arms on the armchairs. Guinevere folded her hands in her lap,

"What do you want?" she asked politely. Mordred smiled, tilting his chin forward slightly, so that shadow obscured his eyes,

"I don't want anything. I have a proposition for you." Guinevere sneered,

"I'm not interested in anything you have to give me."

"I have nothing to give you, either."

"Than I must rephrase…you have nothing to _offer_ me," the sneer fell from her lips so abruptly it was startling. Her façade was completely abandoned. A scowl replaced it, twisting her smooth skin in an irksome web of ugly lines, "You're a young knight, an inexperienced child. Still too young to grow a proper beard, just barely old enough to wipe his own ass. Tell me," she leaned forward over he knees, a loathsome smile cranking up the corner of her mouth, "What is it you hope to accomplish? Do you want to save your _king_? Do you want to prove you're _worthy_? Because I'll tell you right now, to spare you the unnecessary _pain_," she bore her eyes into Mordred's, gaze unwavering and cruel, "You never will be."

She leaned back with a look of immense satisfaction, and crossed her arms over her chest.

"_What if she doesn't cooperate?"_

Several moments of intense silence passed, where the sound of a dust mite brushing the floor would have been deafening. Finally, Mordred blinked, and slowly opened his mouth. He inhaled,

"You asked me," he said, picking at the grain of the wood in his chair, absentmindedly gazing at his fingers, "What it is I could do to you."

The queen looked puzzled, then nodded. Mordred resituated his eyes to meet hers, and felt a small bit of satisfaction at seeing her flinch,

"And I said, nothing."

"Yes,"

"That wasn't entirely true,"

"Wasn't it?"

A pause, then Mordred lowered his eyes,

"You see, people have always underestimated me. As a boy, I was small, I_ seemed_ vulnerable. To the naked eye, I was a weakling. I still am," he ponderously traced circles on his palm, "The world is largely unforgiving, and the people in it loathe to pass up an opportunity. But misconceptions can be a dangerous thing. People realize their mistakes too late. But by that time, they're already writhing on the ground in front of me. Small mercies, I suppose, for a young boy with nothing to his name, and nothing to lose."

He raised his eyes again. Gwen was taut as a bowstring, her eyes wide and glued to his, her lips pale. Her fingers clutched the chair so hard he thought it might splinter. He stared hard into her eyes,

"But that's not the way it is anymore, is it? I have something to fight for. I have people who will look over my shoulder for me, a place I could trick myself into thinking of as a home. I could even almost convince myself that people care for me," he sniggered scornfully, "Ah, you see, my delusions have finally won me over. Because I find that I care for them too," it was his turn to lean forward, and he watched as Guinevere pressed farther back into her chair, "And that's what's different, isn't it? I have something to protect, now, something that goes beyond my own body, my own survival. Broken bones, simple incapacitation, they just won't be enough anymore. If you harm that which has become most dear to me, I won't take any chances, and I won't hold _back_."

Gwen swallowed, what was now recognizable as fear shining through her eyes. Mordred smiled, then didn't,

"One of the greatest common desires of all people is that they will go forward into death, heads raised high, willingness in their hearts," he let his voice take in a dark, murderous edge. When he said his next words, they were practically spat, with a cold, undeniable truth lining each syllable, "But I won't give you that. I will drag you backwards into death, blind to the long, dark path it follows, kicking and _screaming_. And if your mind ever somehow climbs to awareness through the agony, all you will know is the scent of blood on your hands, from where you've clawed out your eyes, just to keep from seeing the damage. And you'll prey for insanity, you'll _beg_ for it."

Guinevere was visibly trembling now, her features fragile as crystal glass.

"But before that time comes, I will lengthen your suffering. I will put you in a place where the light of day and the mercy of death do not penetrate the endless gloom. The earth will savor your pain, and the sky will watch in apathy as the dark thoughts in your mind slowly tear you apart. And when you call out for mercy, there will be none coming. Not because I wouldn't give it. But because there will be none to give," Mordred's hands clenched into tight, shaking fists, "Have you ever been in a world where compassion has run dry, where naught but a withering thread of humanity is left to taunt you, to make you wish you could _burn_?" he paused, listening to her harsh breathing, studying the glistening sheen over her eyes, "Because that's where I'll keep you, until your days fade into nothing, and the last breath of your pitiful life is only a relief to you as it passes through your lips. Because I promise you, my dark queen, life will not leave you kindly, it will be _torn _from you, _slowly_."

Shimmering tracks of tears painted Guinevere's stricken face. Her shoulders shook and her lip trembled. She looked horrified beyond what she seemed able to cope with. Mordred felt guilt well up inside of him, almost making him sick, and had to remind himself sternly that this was not the real Guinevere. Hopefully, the real Gwen wouldn't remember any of this. He took in a deep breath, and finished his task,

"So, what do you decide?" he said, "How much are you willing to lose, to love Morgana…more than you fear me?"

Mordred studied Guinevere intently. And he knew it when she decided, when her shoulders slumped in resignation, and her quivering chin lowered to her chest.

He smirked.

"_What if she doesn't cooperate?"_

"…_She will."_

…

Arthur's eyes were mainly trained on his manservant as they rode back to Camelot.

He didn't know exactly what he was looking for. It was rather foolish to believe that something should _look_ different about Merlin merely because he'd surprised Arthur with his behavior. But Arthur couldn't help it. He couldn't help but think that there should be something noticeable, something his highly trained eyes could spot that would serve as an explanation as to how Merlin had managed to ruthlessly slay Morgana in such an…unrepentant way.

Of course, seeing Merlin just _alive _at this point was more than enough to hold Arthur's incredulity at bay, and tide him over with a relief that made his bones weak.

In all honesty, Arthur was rather proud of himself. He was performing admirably in staunching the flow of questions struggling to burst forth. How Merlin had managed to escape a _dragon_ completely unharmed, albeit somewhat singed, he feared he would never know.

But maybe it wasn't just self-control holding Arthur's curiosity at bay. There was something about Merlin's demeanor that was discouraging any of Arthur's urges to ask questions.

Merlin looked…precarious. Though that heavy weight of sorrow, which had plagued him for the past several days, was now conspicuously absent from the young man's shoulders, he still seemed tense, jittery, slightly off kilter. His skin was pale and sallow, his eyes still weighted with a far-away look. He sat silently on his saddle, face impassive and seemingly brighter than it had been, and he didn't seem ready to bolt off in some random direction or snarl at Arthur and Gwaine in a hostile manner. His shoulders were hunched, though, and his hands clenched and released the reins on his mount over and over. He seemed nervous, uncomfortable, even a little guilty, as if there were something he really wanted to do, but was afraid to do it.

He was like a cauterized wound, still throbbing and blistered, but no longer bleeding.

A tense silence was all that accompanied the travelers as they rode home. Gwaine seemed in an unusually good mood because of it, and kept flicking his eyes non-discreetly between Arthur and Merlin, as if gleefully expecting them to collide in some sort of static explosion.

Turns out, that was very similar to what actually happened.

After several more minutes, Arthur started to grow agitated. He squirmed and roved his gaze about in the trees, trying to distract himself from the mounting frustration in his gut. He felt left out of something, something that had happened to save Merlin from a dragon and restore his ability to be in Gwaine and Arthur's presence. What _had _happened?

When Arthur did speak, it was with a great deal of tact,

"So, you want to tell me what the Hell happened back there?" he demanded suddenly, virtually unaware of the gruff, whining note to his voice.

Merlin spared him an irritated glance and pursed his lips, the leather of the reins creaking as his hands clenched,

"No," he said simply. Arthur snorted in disbelief,

"Seriously?" he whipped his head toward Gwaine for support, but the man had suddenly become intensely fascinated with his horse's mane. Arthur felt anger flash in his chest, and rounded on Merlin,

"You're unbelievable!" he yelled, "You think it's fair to just leave me in the dark?"

Merlin growled and sent Arthur a scathing glare,

"Oh, yes, God forbid anything unfair _ever_ happen to a _Pendragon_."

"You were kidnapped by a bloody dragon!"

"That's my business!"

After that, Arthur lost track of the argument. He and Merlin engaged in a heated mess of a verbal duel with inconsistent points and burning insults. Neither he nor Merlin were at the top of their game, fueled and made sloppy by the frustrations and battle scars of a long and complicated friendship. It was spittle flying and rage pouring forth and old wounds ripped back open. They said hurtful things, stupid things, things they had never said before but had been tacit faults in their relationship for years. Arthur's mouth worked without his consent, yelling out personal attacks against his manservant in cruel ways that he never had before. This wasn't their usual banter, or even reminiscent of their normal fights. This was bloody and unencumbered and personal. But Merlin gave as good as he got,

"Oh, yes, I'm such a horrible servant. Well, at least I'm not a coward! I don't hide behind my father's legacy so I don't have to deal with making changes. At least, I know what's right and don't need my wife or my knights to tell me what is, cause really I'm still just an arrogant brat who's still basking in the leftover glory of his father's reign."

"Right, of course, you have such a great reputation for bravery! Cowering behind trees, trying to convince me to let innocent people die so that I can live. You know what I think, Merlin? I think that you're just trying to protect your own skinny ass!"

"Oh, really, is that what you think? Well, I'm not the one who lets my friends suffer with their pain because I'm too _uncomfortable _to think of anyone but myself."

"_You're_ the one who's been avoiding all of his friends, making them worry and feel sorry for you, just because you're too much of a self-righteous bastard to deal with your problems instead of sulking about them!"

Arthur felt the sting of his own words, heard the cruelty and injustice in them, but couldn't stop them from coming out, even as Merlin's eyes began to shine with angry tears and his face hardened,

"I'm sorry, okay?!" he screamed.

Silence filled the forest. Somewhere, Arthur heard a pinecone hit the underbrush. He viewed Merlin in open, utter shock,

"_You're_ sorry?" he asked incredulously. Merlin blushed, face still flushed and sweaty from his anger, and looked down at his saddle,

"Well," he said after a pause, "Yes. I mean, shouldn't have treated you the way I did. I mean," he ducked his head even further, if that was possible, "you're the one who got me out of that dungeon in the first place," he said almost in a whisper.

Arthur was incredulous. His mouth flapped open and closed like a stranded fish as he struggled to form some sort of coherent response. Merlin noticed the delay, and raised his head,

"You…you do forgive me, don't you?"

Arthur was sure some sort of vein must have ruptured in his head at that point.

"Forgive you? What-how…you bloody moron!"

Merlin flinched, anger overtaking his features. But Arthur was oblivious to the change,

"Forgive you? _Me_ forgive _you_? After all that I-?"

In a second, Arthur was off his horse, and ignoring Merlin's startled cries as he dragged him off his horse, so that they both landed in the dirt in an awkward stumble. He gripped both sides of Merlin's head and stared hard into his eyes, resisting the urge to shake him,

"No, Merlin, no. You bloody idiot, _I'm _sorry," he panted, watching Merlin's face change from slightly scared and confused to completely dumbfounded, but Arthur continued, "I'm such a…a prat. All the time," Arthur forcibly swallowed his pride, deciding it was now or never, "I…I never tell you how much I value having you around. And I never say thank you, or sorry. And you're right, I am a coward. I was afraid to-to let you hurt in front of me. After the dungeons I just…I was afraid to see you as anything but alright. I always want you to be strong, to be the same. Because I know that if you break, I'll just…I'll just shatter," he said quietly.

Merlin eyed him with soft eyes, which were partly narrowed in study. Slowly, they opened wider, and a tired smile crept across his face. He lay a hand on Arthur's shoulder, and gripped his shirt tightly,

"You're such a prat," he said quietly, voice choked with tears. Arthur grinned in relief, something inside his chest dematerializing inside of him, suddenly making it easier to breathe. and on a whim that he would later turn red at the thought of, he pulled Merlin into a tight, inexplicable embrace, feeling the young man stiffen, and then relax against him.

"Well, isn't that sweet," Gwaine's voice said condescendingly. Arthur and Merlin released each other in several manly, embarrassed huffs and brushed themselves off as Arthur sent Gwaine an irritated glance. The knight was grinning brightly,

"My turn?"

…..

Morgana's corpse was white and still as snow, save for the dark red blood soaked through her dress, and peppering her flesh. The forest floor beneath her was stained and drowning in the thick liquid. Her arms lay at her sides. The air was silent, and still.

A slight breeze dared to send a strand of hair brushing against her pale cheek. Weakly, so impossibly small it was almost imperceptible, her eye twitched.

And then opened, capturing time in the force of a magic vibration that shuddered through the earth. A pupil swallowed by blackness and hatred, full lips tainted by droplets of sickly red, pulling open into a snarl.

…

Mordred and Leon stood on Camelot's parapets, the evening breeze rustling their hair as the heavy weight of anticipation clung to the hearts of every man. Knights lined the fortress walls, crossbows resting neatly in rows in every gap along the granite balcony. The air was cool and dry, and Mordred breathed in steadily, trying to quiet the sound of his heart beating in his ears.

It was deathly quiet. Camelot seemed to be holding her breath, the cool gray of the sky causing her to portray an ashen pallor. The streets were empty, citizens hiding inside their homes. Wind blew through the trees, a snaking chill wafting over Camelot's borders, causing a shiver to tickle his extremities.

Where was she? Had Morgana caught wind of the fact that they knew? But if she had, would she really have called off the entire battle? Or, was it not to be so brazen as an army marching upon the city? Maybe, she had put into place some sly, covert operation to dismantle Camelot in a matter of minutes. Maybe, Arthur's bloody corpse was lying somewhere in the woods, eyes staring unseeingly into the clouded sky. Maybe, Merlin was with him, stabbed through the chest by some killing curse…

Mordred shook his head, trying to dissipate the dark thoughts before they wreaked irrevocable havoc on his nerves.

"Are you alright?" Leon asked with a slight concerned glance in his direction.

Mordred turned to him with a start, and opened his mouth to answer.

"Someone's approaching!" a knight yelled, and the creaking of a hundred crossbows raising and aiming followed.

Mordred ran to the wall and pressed his hands into the cold granite, leaning far over the edge as he stared hard into the trees, pulse pounding in his ears,

"Wait," he said quietly. Leon yelled, holding up his hand,

"Hold your fire!"

Sure enough, three vague figures came trotting in from the fog, first blurry, but Mordred saw as their outlines became clearer. A broad smile broke across his face,

"It's the king!"

Leon's shoulders slumped in relief and he smiled,

"Stand down, stand down!" he ordered his men, and all the knights lowered their bows.

As the silhouettes became even clearer, Arthur's blonde head was easily discernible atop his steed. He raised his hand to the sky, hailing his men,

"Lower the gates!" Mordred was able to make out his words the second time he yelled them, and relayed the order to Leon.

"Lower the gates!" Leon repeated, and a few knights ran to do the job.

Mordred stared with giddy relief and triumph as his king and Emrys came trotting farther from the trees, still about a hundred feet away from the gate. They were alive. Finally, they could-

His jubilation disappeared and was replaced by a cold, arresting dread and his insides twisted into an icy heap,

"SIRE!" Mordred screamed, pointing frantically into the trees behind the king. Arthur and Merlin and Gwaine had dismounted and were leading their horses forward, but at Mordred's panicked cries, they turned as one to see the horrific sight which had sent Mordred's hope into oblivion, and drew their swords.

A dark figure was stumbling wretchedly from the trees, bathed in a curtain of black shadow, long, scraggly hair whipping wildly about her head. She had both arms clutched about her torso, where a splatter of red stood out against the white and black visage of her skin and clothes. Her body twitched and seized with a mad, scattered energy as she weakly hobbled into the clearing. She looked like a walking corpse, hunched and convulsing and her legs almost folding beneath her torn, ragged skirts every time she sporadically moved.

This was not a human being any longer. This was a creature, fueled by the leftover remnants of a dark and powerful spell, no longer defined by any clarity of the mind and heart, but of an animalistic desire for blood, leftover from the last minutes before death.

Mordred raised his hand instinctively, but then realized that none of his spells would work from this distance. He cursed violently, and started in the direction of the stairs, but was frozen in place as horror seized his insides.

With an animalistic howl, a wrenching shriek like that of a banshee tearing through the air, and stealing the breath from Mordred's lungs, Morgana's wraith lifted a claw like hand into the air, and sent a dark, roiling mass of black, lashing magic straight at Arthur, before collapsing to the ground in a heap. Dead once again.

Mordred couldn't breathe, he couldn't even think as he watched what unfolded before him.

He saw almost in slow motion as Arthur stumbled backward and raise a hand up to futilely protect himself. He waited, knowing that it wouldn't miss, knowing that Arthur would die without a chance.

But the curse never reached him. Instead, it hit a figure who jumped in front of him in a flying leap, jacket flapping in the gale.

The black magic exploded against Merlin's exposed chest, sending him backward with a shockwave of cataclysmic force that vibrated up into the parapets, making Mordred stumble and almost fall.

He saw as Merlin's body collided with Arthur's, sending them both in a messy crash to the grass, where they both rolled to a sudden stop. He saw Gwaine rush to their side in a panicked frenzy. He watched how Arthur sat up in a daze, clutching his head…and how Merlin didn't.

He was aware as his world suddenly crashed down around him, but it was Arthur who screamed.

…

Merlin didn't need to think when he saw the spell coming towards Arthur. But he did exactly as he would have done if he'd contemplated the decision for days.

He jumped.

The spell hit him straight in the chest.

It didn't quite hurt the way he thought it would. He was distantly aware of some kind of molten agony stabbing into his heart and lungs, then rupturing in a spray of burning tendrils into his limbs, seizing in his veins and lapping at his flesh. It was like ice and white fire, black poison and boiling water splashing against the insides of his body. He was also aware of hitting the ground, of being unable to stop himself as his bones slapped against the dirt in a misshapen tumble.

But this was all distant, numb, vague, like the faded echoes of someone else's unbearable pain.

He had somehow landed with his face toward the sky, and he felt sad to see it was covered in clouds. There was a thumping in his ears, but growing fainter and fainter…

Someone was yelling his name. Shaking arms lifted him and cushioned his head against something soft.

He tried to speak, but found that there was no breath left in his lungs, nothing but suffocating emptiness. He felt his lips were parted, but he couldn't move them. A weak shudder ran through him, before his body lost all of its tension, relaxing gently downward. The beats in his ears were getting farther and farther apart…they stuttered, and stopped, then restarted. Merlin wished for a sip of air…just a small sip…

Someone was yelling at him to breathe, desperately _begging_ him. Merlin wanted to, he really did. But he didn't think he had the strength.

He could no longer hear any beats.

_Please, Merlin_

The voice sounded so pained. Merlin looked for strength, something that seemed so far away, a pinprick of tawny light behind him, weak against the black horizon of oblivion drawing him forward. But he grasped it. Somehow, he gained a hold, a small bit of purchase…

Air reluctantly seeped into his chest, though Merlin could barely feel it.

He only had a moment to think that it wouldn't be enough, before darkness claimed him.

….

Turns out, he was wrong.

When Merlin rose to consciousness, it was with an agonizing slowness, and due in no part to Merlin's desires. He would have much preferred to remain in the bliss of unawareness. He knew the further and further he got to consciousness, the more he was going to hurt.

But the voice was there again, imploring and relentless. They wanted him to wake up. Well, Merlin was willing to go through the agony of surviving for the voice, so maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

He was wrong. Again. So very, very wrong.

Yes, Merlin was definitely not dead. There was no way that being dead could hurt this much. Everything ached, like his whole body had been dunked in boiling water, then wrung out and hung up to dry like the skinned carcass of one of Arthur's animals.

Arthur. Morgana. The spell.

Merlin's eyes would have flown open if they weren't seemingly attached to lead weights. Instead, they fluttered lazily into thin slits, revealing a world of blurred colors smeared into each other.

He was able to discern several figures surrounding him, each looking vaguely familiar in coloring and proportion. He opened his mouth, and naught but a thin, pained croak came out.

"Merlin?"

Merlin shut his eyes tightly, and winced at the pain it caused, then opened them again to find his vision was somewhat clearer. He swallowed passed a dry throat,

"Arthur?" he whispered at recognizing the king's face above his, brow furrowed in worry, "Am I…dead?" he asked dumbly.

Arthur seemed to deflate in relief, and blew out a sigh as he smiled down at his friend,

"No, but you sure as hell gave it your best shot."

Merlin rolled his eyes about dazedly, feeling too weak to even move his head. All the knights were there: Leon, Percival, Elyan, Gwaine, even Mordred, watching him with various looks of concern and relief. Mordred seemed particularly happy to see him awake.

It would have been embarrassing, but Merlin couldn't seem to muster up the energy.

"Go back to sleep, mate," Gwaine said softly as Merlin felt the tug of exhaustion pulling at his eyes, "We'll be here for you when you wake up."

Merlin let his eyes slip closed, feeling surprised that he actually, for the first time in a long time, believed his friend.

…..

The next few weeks were long ones. Gaius explained to Merlin that his magic (and a goodly amount of strong will power) had managed to drive away Morgana's curse, leaving him alive, but extremely weak.

The first few days, it was a colossal effort just to raise his arm two inches off his bed. The knights came to see him every day, first in groups, then by themselves.

Something inside of Merlin still shied away and felt angry when they came. Though Morgana's magic had been purged from him by Kilgarrah, he still felt the original hurt and betrayal his friends had instilled. But, by and by, he slowly began to realize that they had truly realized their mistakes, and _truly_ wanted to change.

It was a long process, both the physical recovery, and the emotional one. They were both some of the best and worst weeks of Merlin's life. Everyday he was spoon fed and helped to exercise his stagnant limbs. Arthur and the knights displayed a devotion and patience that, more than any of the apologetic looks and encouraging promises of friendship, displayed to Merlin how much they really cared for him.

The knights came to him one on one. They apologized, they asked forgiveness. Merlin gave it with an agonizing reluctance, everything in his gut screaming at him not to let his heart be broken again. He was putting his faith in them one last time, hoping it wouldn't be for nothing. And something, deep inside, told him it wasn't.

It was arduous and mundane. Being unable to feel most parts of his body, and then only pain when he did, while still being unable to move hardly at all, left Merlin in something of a bad mood. Gaius ordered plenty of bed rest.

By the end of the first week, he could stand with some help. By the end of the second, he could walk on his own.

That was when he went with Arthur to see Gwen.

Morgana's death, apparently, hadn't broken the curse on her. In fact, Morgana's death had only set her into a terrible state of feral depression, like a dog who'd lost its master. The puppet queen had been under house arrest in her chambers since the day Morgana was slain. She was forced to eat, and under constant guard in case she decided she wanted to end the pain herself.

It was especially hard on Arthur. On top of the usual duties of running his kingdom, he was also trying to keep alive a wife who was no longer the woman he loved, and assist in the recovery of his temporarily paralyzed manservant.

Merlin had seen with plenty of concern and strife, the dark circles under Arthur's eyes, the heavy weight to his shoulders, the winsome exhaustion to his smile.

It was only when he saw Gwen for the first time in two weeks, that he truly understood it.

When Merlin entered her chambers, it was to a dark and dismal atmosphere. She hardly resembled herself anymore. Gwen sat upon her chair, gnarled hands clutching the sides so hard the veins popped from her knuckles. Her eyes stared obstinately forward into nothing, sunken into her skull, darkened by hatred and misery. Her hair fell unkempt and dirty into her twisted, loathing face, and made her seem even smaller than she was. Her flimsy nightgown showed in harsh clarity the pointed protrusion of her shoulders, the dangerous thinness to her wrists and neck, and the hollowness of her stomach. Arthur said that they had been forcibly feeding her, but Merlin had to wonder how much good it was actually doing.

He watched with a profound sadness as Arthur knelt before her, and tenderly took one skeletal hand in both of his,

Silently, he lovingly brushed a strand of hair out of Guinevere's eyes. She flinched away from him, eyes flashing with disgust and fury. Merlin felt his heart break at the sight of Arthur's expression.

Quietly, Arthur stood from his kneeled position, and kissed Gwen atop her head,

"Soon, my love, soon," he whispered, then kissed her again and subtly beckoned Merlin from the shadowy room.

Once they left, Merlin weakly hobbling into place next to his king, Arthur closed the door and fell silent, pressing his forehead against the door,

"I can't lose her, Merlin," his eyes filled with unfallen tears. He turned to Merlin with a stricken expression, "I just can't."

Merlin reached forward and placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder, he squeezed, and looked him straight in the eyes,

"You won't."

...

THE END

...

YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYA! It's finally over! 8D 8D 8D 8D

Okay, I realize this was probably not the ideal ending for most of you. In fact, I think it's pretty sucky myself. But honestly, I'm just really, really, really glad it's over. I'd like to thank all of you for your continued support and immense patience throughout this story. (And yes, any potential flamers, I know that the thing with Merlin forgiving the knights rather quickly seemed kinda small compared to all the angst before, but I stand by it.)

I LOVE ALL YOU GUYS! Thank you so so so much for all your kind words and encouragement, it really makes my life all that much better.


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